25 Days of Christmas
by purrpickle
Summary: 25 days of December leading up to Christmas. 25 romantic Christmas themed prompts. 25 drabbles and short stories. All one-shots, all Pezberry. (The chapters may be arranged in order after all are posted.) Day 11 contains g!p smut.
1. Day 7

**A/N:** I don't own Glee nor the characters within. This is a writing exercise. I stumbled upon a post on tumblr about romantic prompts for the first 25 days of December, and my aim is to do all of them. Hopefully upon the day (yes this means I'm going to have to churn out #1-6 as well to catch up), and hopefully wrapping up Christmas Day. Each chapter will be titled the day they are, and the prompt will be supplied as well.

This first prompt was written while waiting for an appointment, and I'm trying this new thing where I don't edit the hell out of what I write, so what you see is pretty much exactly what I first put down. Let's see how that works out, yeah? (I'm going to do this for all the chapters. Yeesh! Wish me luck!)

Here we go~

* * *

 **Day 7: Character A can't wrap gifts to save their life. Character B is their neighbor and can help.**

* * *

"Oh Christmas bells!"

That being the seventh creative expletive coming muffled through the wall in the past forty five minutes, Santana set her reading glasses down, pushed back from her desk, and knocked where the majority of the noise was coming from. "You okay in there?"

"What?"

"I said, you okay in there?" Pausing when no further response came back, Santana rolled her eyes and knocked again. "Hey. It's really rude to stop talking to someone. Especially when you've been gracing me with the _strangest_ Christmas themed swears for the past hour. I'm left wondering if Santa or his elves have stormed your apartment and taken you hostage."

Her neighbor, a cute brunette named Rachel who was normally a pretty good person to live next to (unless she was singing her latest Broadway craze at two frickin' AM – that, Santana drew a line at), suddenly thumped back, much closer than before. "I'm very sorry," the woman raised her voice to be overly clear, "It was not my intention to cause a fuss. Or, well, be heard, to be honest."

"I bet." Murmuring to herself, Santana repeated it louder when she got another, "What?" "Look, just, can you keep it down a bit? While it's amusing, and I certainly got a chuckle out of 'Blessed reindeer antlers', I _am_ trying to finish up a report that's due tomorrow. And honestly? Yuletide utterances aren't very conducive to focusing."

Embarrassed silence filtered in, and then Rachel's disembodied voice practically _oozed_ apology, "I shall do my best. No more outbursts from me."

"Thanks." Waiting a second more in case her neighbor was going to add anything, Santana walked back over to her work desk. She hadn't been lying. She had one more report for work due the next day that, once turned in meant she was home free for the next two weeks to _finally_ get the vacation time she'd been promised for the past two years. She was looking forward to sleeping in and drinking spiked eggnog and shopping for the kids she was very happy _not_ to have born for her mother, thank you very much. It was too bad she wasn't going to make it physically home for the holidays, but she'd told herself that the price of airplane tickets wasn't worth taking out of her future travel account.

Thankfully, quickly getting lost in numbers and the utter _idiocy_ of her coworkers she _still_ had to correct no matter how many times she'd told them they were completely wrong, the wall she shared with Rachel's apartment stayed quiet. That is, until she'd taken a break and was just about to take her first sip of her third coffee of the afternoon, when a loud huff and thonk and, " _Chestnuts and dreidels_!" sounded quite clearly.

It didn't surprise Santana in the least that a Hanukkah term was used. She was just impressed it had taken that long.

Pausing with her lips almost touching the rim of her mug, the slightly spicy scent of her expensive coffee met her nose. Still, glancing at her 75% done report, then back at the wall, Santana sighed, lowering it. Rummaging through her cabinets for the rainbow thermos her friends had given her as a gag gift when she'd come out, Santana gingerly poured her coffee into it. Once that was completed, and lightly sucking on her thumb when the hot liquid splashed out, she set the thermos next to the coffee maker, grabbed a mint from her kitchen drawer, and plucked out the bottle of cheap, white wine one of her coworkers had given her two Secret Santas ago.

When she stopped in front of Rachel's door, wine in hand and knocking firmly, Santana blamed the Christmas spirit and how cute Rachel had looked the weekend before.

A couple of seconds passed, and then the door was yanked open. Rachel, long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that had partially come out in strands curling around her ears, wearing a dark green sweater with what looked to be a Christmas wreath that had actual LED lights blinking on and off with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and black skin-tight yoga pants, blinked up at her. A small hand flew up to her mouth. "I'm so sorry!" she stammered, "I know I promised to keep it down, but – "

Santana raised her free hand, stopping the woman. "Chill. I'm not here to yell at you."

"You're not?"

"No." Lifting the wine bottle, Santana arched an eyebrow. "I figured you might want some. You're obviously doing something that's frustrating you – those are _obviously_ not sex noises. I would know. I've heard you. Mad props to whoever's making you scream like that – and there's nothing better than cheap alcohol and Auntie 'Tana to make you relax." When Rachel looked unconvinced, Santana rolled her eyes. She cocked her hip. "I don't know if you know this, but you're highly distracting. If I want any hope to get my crap done, I'mma have to calm you myself."

A large sigh left the small woman's body, and Rachel finally nodded, stepping back. "Thank you. That sounds heavenly. I was about to head to the liquor store myself."

"That doesn't surprise me at all."

"Right?" Rachel lightly laughed, splitting off to the kitchen to grab wineglasses and a corkscrew, Santana neutrally taking in the décor that _screamed_ New York cheap chic. In the middle of the open space that served as both a living and dining room, boxes and bags were strewn around rolls of wrapping paper, various tape dispensers and scissors dumped unceremoniously around a half-finished attempt, a plush SpongeBob staring up at her under crumpled Frozen paper. Coming back and gesturing for Santana to take a seat on the couch, Rachel set the glasses down onto the glass coffee table. "I have to say it'll be nice to take a break. Would you do the honors?"

Shrugging, Santana accepted the corkscrew and was quickly pouring a goodly amount in both glasses. Holding up hers to tap it against Rachel's, smiling when the woman stated, "To wine and neighbors and making noise loud enough to be heard through the walls, I'm so sorry," Santana waved it off, planning on replying after taking her first sip. Only, as the sour taste met her taste buds, she made a face, managing a laugh when Rachel echoed the reaction. "Oh god. This is _too_ cheap. Thank _god_ I didn't spend money on this. Turns out Burns is as much a terrible wine connoisseur as he is a coworker." Still, she took another sip; it was better than nothing.

"I was going to say you had terrible taste in wine, so it's good to hear you didn't pick this out." Rachel mimicked her, taking another sip of her own. She cleared her throat, dark eyes twinkling, "I'm glad I didn't pay for this either."

"Hey, _I_ can make fun of it all I want – it's mine. _You_ , however, should be grateful and extolling its virtues. You _want_ me to take it back?"

A faux look of panic crossed Rachel's face. "Oh no. Please don't. Whatever would I do without horrible free wine?"

"It's good you know what you'd be missing."

The two woman looked at each other, then chuckled. "Okay, no," Santana shook her head, sitting back and crossing her legs, her wineglass playing in her fingers, "How 'bout this: we finish off this poor excuse of wine then get the kid across the hall to go on a proper alcohol run."

Rachel tilted her head. She set her chin against the back of her fingers. "He's 21?"

Santana grinned. "With his fake I.D. he is. It's cool. He owes me a favor for letting him crash at my place one night when he was shitfaced so he wouldn't get in trouble with his parents."

"I… don't know how I feel, aiding and abetting the corruption of a minor."

"Lame. Still," Santana wagged her finger at her, "Let's see how you feel with half this bottle in you."

Snorting, Rachel shook her head, a smile under her knuckles. "If we _get_ that far."

"Hey! What I say about making fun of my free wine?"

Rachel's response was lost in the wineglass, a slightly bigger sip than the ones before muffling it even more.

Enjoying her neighbor's spunk, and unashamedly watching the expressions that easily and quickly flickered across her pretty face, Santana settled further into the couch. She looked around. "Nice apartment."

Rachel nodded, reaching for the wine bottle to top up her glass. "It's stereotypical, isn't it?"

"I'd say more like _almost_ trying too hard." Santana smirked at the look that got her. "I said _almost_." Uncrossing her legs and crossing them again, her smirk deepened as she caught Rachel's gaze following the motion. She threw back the rest of her wine, thanking her high school days for making her practically immune to the worst of alcohols, before reaching for the wine bottle as well; she jerked her chin in the direction of the wrapping station. "You gonna tell me about that pile of holiday vomit? It's like one of Santa's elves got drunk and splattered Christmas cheer all over your floor. Oh, and your sweater too. Cute."

Wrinkling her nose at the image before smiling lightly at the small compliment, Rachel sighed, "If you're wondering what caused my… frustration, it's that. As much as I pride myself on being a perfectionist in most things, unfortunately wrapping presents is _not_ one of them."

Santana raised her eyebrows. All those utterances had been because of _wrapping presents_? "You serious?"

A small pout turned Rachel's lips down. "Yes. Not only am I behind on sending my gifts this year, I foolishly decided to wait and wrap them until today. I'm hoping…" She sighed. "I _was_ hoping to finish in time to catch the last delivery hour at the post office."

Surveying the mess, Santana hummed. "I don't think you're going to make it."

Rachel groaned. "Tell me something I _don't_ know."

"Okay." Tossing back the second largest gulp in ten minutes, Santana almost slammed her wineglass down onto the coffee table. "One, not only am I the _goddess_ at wrapping presents – four years of community service, baby. Even won awards for that shit – but two, out of the _goodness_ of my heart – and for the sake of my ears and work tomorrow – I'mma help you out."

Rachel stared at her. Her mouth was slightly open, the tight expression of warning at Santana's violent actions easing in her shock. "W-what?"

Rolling her eyes, Santana stood up. Stretching her arms before leaning down to pull Rachel up, plucking her glass out of her hand so it didn't spill, she let her wrist go once the other woman was up and balanced. "Pretty sure your own voice doesn't deafen yourself, and I know mine doesn't, so you heard me. C'mon. Before my offer expires." She crooked her finger at the other brunette, skimming around the coffee table to the cleanest corner of the setup, settling down into a cross legged position. "Oh, and bring the wine with you."

She picked up the half-finished SpongeBob. "What's this?" Pulling the plush out of the wrapping paper Rachel had evidently given up on, she unceremoniously crumpled the used paper into a ball, tossing it at the wastepaper basket a few feet away that was practically half full already.

"Hey!" Coming up beside Santana, leaning down to set the wine on the hard floor well away from their legs, Rachel frowned at her, taking a seat as well. "We could have used that. Recycled the paper, at least."

"Yeah, no." Santana pointed at herself. "The expert, remember? That was beyond all hope. Okay!" she clapped her hands together, "You sort the presents into box shapes or loose. _Including_ the sad few I see you _tried_ to do. Speaking of, got any extra boxes? Gonna make the wrapping easier." Slipping a hair tie from the pocket of her sweatpants, Santana tied her hair up. Then, seeing Rachel looking at her, she frowned. "What?"

Rachel blinked. "Nothing. Sorry. Just… Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah, thank me when we're done by buying the _real_ alcohol."

A bright smile split Rachel's lips, and she nodded. "Okay." Shuffling over to her pile of presents, Rachel paused with her fingers skimming along the first bag. "What happens when I'm done sorting?"

"Then you'll sit pretty, handing me tape or scissors or wine – you know, whatever – when I ask for them," Santana responded slowly, already reaching for the roll of cartoon reindeer wrapping paper; stopping as her shoulder started to feel the strain, she snapped her fingers, pointing at it.

"I was already using Frozen wrapping paper."

"No. This is for a kid, I'm assuming?" At Rachel's nod, Santana tucked a stray strand of her ponytail behind her ear, "Good. Else that'd be weird. Anyway, you give a kid Frozen wrapping paper and they're gonna think they're getting something Frozen related. I've seen the disappointment with my own eyes. So, reindeer."

Rachel furrowed her eyebrows, aimlessly keeping a hold on the roll. "You sure?"

" _You_ sure you're wanting to get this done before five?"

Rachel sighed. "Good point. Here." She handed her the roll.

"Thanks. While we're doing this, go ahead and speak up if you had other plans. I'm sure I won't veto _all_ of them." Smirking, she pointed at the wine and, sighing through a smile, Rachel passed her her glass, picking her own up afterwards. Taking a sip, Santana shook off the sourness, gave it back to Rachel, and turned back to the SpongeBob plush. "Alright, dude," she picked it up, looking it over, "Gonna start with you."

Next to her, alternating smiling down at what she was doing and at Santana, Rachel did, Santana couldn't help thinking, glancing back at her as she quickly began her measuring and cutting, teasing all the way, sit pretty. Creative holiday expletives and all.


	2. Day 8

**Day 8: Character A's ex will be at the Christmas Party A is attending. Character B poses as A's fiance.**

* * *

" _Please_."

"You can't be serious."

"You know I don't throw around the P Word easily. I am _very_ serious."

"This is utterly absurd. You're forgetting that she _knows_ me. We're friends on facebook. She'd know we were lying. _Everyone_ we know would know we were lying."

"You're an up and comer actress, keeping your romantic relationships under cover. And Jesus, everyone would be too busy thinking we were too hot together to pay much attention to specifics."

"How about the fact I'm not gay and she's _only_ ever seen me date men?"

"Didn't say you were, Bi Berry. Get your head out of your heteronormative view of life. And it's not like _she's_ a stranger to dating men."

"I have _two dads_ , Santana."

"And _I_ have an ex who's going to be at the party I can't not show up for if I want to keep my cred. Look, what do you want from me? A week of not making fun of your clothes or who you date? Even if they make you look like a reject from a reimagining of Mary Poppins with puppets and you bring home another colorless Abercrombie and Fitch model with powder under his nose and the personality of Nicolas Cage, I'll keep my lips shut. Scout's honor."

"You're not amusing, you know."

"Sure I am. You're the one without a sense of humor."

"If you think you're helping your cause, you're not."

"Fine. Berry. Rachel. If you won't just do this out of the good of your heart and as an expression of gratitude for me being the awesomeness that is myself in your life, then I am saying that you are turning down the greatest practice an aspiring actress such as yourself can be offered. Not only do you have to be quick on your feet via improv, you're going to have to play someone head over heels in love with me. Now, sure, I know that isn't a hard thing to be, but I'm sure convincingly playing able to handle my reciprocation will work those acting muscles your acting coach is _always_ going on and on about."

"That is terrible incentive."

"No. It's great incentive. You get an evening of free drink – at a party you're _already attending_ , I'mma point out – my company, and the lady kisses from me I _know_ you've been creaming in your granny panties for since high school."

"I have wanted no such thing. In fact, from the level of effort you're putting into recruiting _me_ instead any of the revolving bevy of women you've traipsed in and out of here, it more speaks to _you_ – "

"Of course, here we go. Kay. Hit me."

" – wanting an excuse to 'get your lady kisses on' with _me_. Really, Santana. Why can't you just be single and happy to see her? Is it you're afraid you'll get drunk and hook up with her again, recreating the disastrous time period that was two years ago?"

"Whoah. Hold up. I wouldn't _needs_ to get drunk to hook up with her."

"Wow."

"I just don't _want_ to. We're done. Over. I'm not in love with her anymore."

"Then why can't you just be an adult and, if not be able to converse politely with her, then spend the evening ignoring her?"

"And be pathetic? Don't be _crazy_ , Berry. Santana Lopez isn't pathetic. Look… Real talk. I want someone to shove into her face that I'm happy – and stop right there. _Yes_ I don't need a woman to be happy. But this is… You _know_ how she is. If I don't bring someone with me, she'll think I'm still pining after her and give me those big eyes and sad, 'move on, Santana, I have,' _crap_."

"I hadn't realized how much of your ego was still wrapped up in her."

" _Fucking hell_ , Berry. Psychoanalyze me later – or better yet, _never_ – just _come with me_."

"One question, and I'll think about it."

" _What_?"

"Why do I have to be your fiancée?"

"Because it shows that we're not just a temporary relationship and that, despite _anything_ she might think, I'm not going to put up with her treating me like she can walk in and out of my life anymore and make it _very_ clear, ironclad, with _you_ being with _me_ means that _no_ , Brittany, I don't care how sexy you are and how buzzed enough I am to listen to my horniness, I will _not_ sneak out with you to eat you out on the balcony this year!"

"Oh god, that's where you were last year? You told me you went outside to smoke!"

"And I didn't smell like smoke when I came back, did I?"

"Oh. Oh god. I thought the extra perfume was for – and not – _Santana_!"

"Like you weren't in the corner macking on some guppy lips."

"There was mistletoe."

"For a full hour? I basically had to shove you guys out from under it so I could just _happen_ to meet Quinn under it."

"Twenty five times."

"Look at you acting the jealous fiancée already. Keep it up."

"No, no. Santana. No. Aside from your comment about us being too… _Attractive_ together making people not question us – and believe me we _will_ come back to that rather Neanderthal-ish sexist reasoning – you know that's not going to stop at least _someone_ asking about how quickly our engagement happened, seeing as we weren't together a year ago!"

"Oh god. Berry. How are you so… We live together. We have been roommates for years, and, in spite of the days we wanted to _kill_ each other, we've learned how to deal with each other."

"For the most part."

"Yes."

"Even though you still insist to clutter the refrigerator up with your _disgusting_ dead carcass foods."

"We wouldn't _have_ a problem if you just bought your own damn refrigerator – "

"I bought the one we have!"

"…And you can buy another."

"No, I can't. Unlike you, I know how to save my money."

"Who's the one who had enough money to cover the expense from when you blew the whole building's electricity because you just _had_ to have the biggest and brightest Christmas lights and tree and display – "

"I paid you back as soon as I could!"

"– _even though no one but us ever saw it_."

"I enjoy celebrating Christmas. Is that such a crime? And it's not like I didn't learn my lesson. Even _before_ the letters and notices threatening me that started showing up after Thanksgiving, I had settled on the mute, _elegant_ display you see now."

"I was blind for _days_ after the lights exploded! That's not _celebrating_ Christmas. That's _annihilating_ it. You're lucky we weren't impaled by flying shards. You're also lucky for the miracle I can even see what I had to fight you over with to settle on. I don't get it. I like Christmas and presents as much as the next person, but aren't you Jewish?"

"You know very well I am."

"Way to avoid the question you _knew_ I was intimating."

"Fine. I may be Jewish, yes, but I have, ever since I was a little girl, enjoyed the sense of wonder and family and love Christmas invokes. I will… Admit… Spurred on by my first Christmas spent fully away from my family and lingering ennui caused by what was happening in both my professional and personal life, I went overboard. There. I admitted it. You happy?"

"Very."

"Oh for – finish your sorry excuse for an explanation about us being believable wives-to-be."

"Because I am so nice, I will allow _your_ poor excuse for changing the subject. Where was I?"

"…We know how to 'deal' with each other."

"Right. And we've been in each other's lives, one way or the other, since junior high – "

"We were in the same kindergarten class, Santana."

"We were?"

"Yes."

"No."

"I gave you a Barney Band-Aid once. After Puck tripped you during recess."

"What? Oh… Riiiiiight. I must've pushed the memory of you out of my head to make room for important things. Fine. We've been in each other's lives since kindergarten. We've had our ups and downs – hell, I only _recently_ _really_ started liking you. But that's what would make this work. We went from enemies to roommates to friends."

"I'm glad you acknowledged we weren't really friends when you moved in."

"I keep it real. Listen. I'm just saying, with the path our friendship has taken, is it _really_ a stretch to go a step further and say that, once being privy to my fine ass day in, day out, away from McKinley High, you saw how irresistible I was and fell for me?"

"Why do _I_ fall for _you_? Wouldn't it be more realistic to say that _you_ , upon being… _Privy_ to _me_ , away from making yourself take on that ridiculous and abhorrent persona you had adopted in high school to deal with societal pressures – and still find yourself clinging to most days, I might add – found yourself developing romantic feelings for me?"

"Yeah, right. That's as realistic as the both of us developing feelings for each other at the same time."

"You're right. Forgive me for thinking you would ever be brave and strong of character enough to step up and woo me."

"You would be so blessed."

"Well, no matter what you say, or might think, you are still dependent on my agreeing, are you not? So I'm telling you right now: there is no way I'm going to even seriously entertain the idea about agreeing to this farce unless you agree to be the one to admit that it was you, Santana Lopez, who set out to woo me, Rachel Berry."

"Be honest and just admit all you want is the swelling of your ego having me chasing after you would cause."

"I'm just saying that a hypothetical Rachel would have found it very romantic of a hypothetical Santana."

"I thought both you and a _hypothetical Rachel_ were modern women. _Nothing_ would stop either of you from trying to seduce me if you came to the conclusion you wanted up on me."

"Right. And hypothetical Santana wouldn't have laughed in hypothetical Rachel's face."

"If hypo – no, fuck that. If _you_ had come to _me_ and said you were into me, yeah, I _would_ have laughed, probably."

"See?"

"Let me finish; it makes good practice for talking about how we got together. Gotta play it smoothly."

"I _told_ you, I'm not going to if you don't – only if _you_ pursued _me_."

"Ignoring that: would you have blamed me for laughing? Tell me honestly. Aside from immediately asking if you were drunk, I'm pretty sure I'd figure all you wanted out of me for telling me that would be a curious, experimental roll in the sack."

"Would… you…?"

"Have sex with you to scratch a lesbian itch? Sure. Why not. At least once. It's not like I haven't seen what's under your hideous wardrobe. I'm sure I'd get some level of enjoyment out of it. At the very least, I'd be able to add another notch to my bedpost."

"I don't know if I'm sorry I asked or not."

"Oh don't lie. You've thought about it. I've seen you glance at my mouth, look at my ass, ogle me when I've just gotten out of the shower…"

"That's enough, Santana. You find me attractive enough to sleep with at least once, proving you could sell being attracted to me enough to want to marry me. That's what you're trying to get across, right? Well, don't worry. It's gotten across."

"You know, for being my future wife, you're pretty shy when it comes to our sex life. Are you worried what the others will ask you about it? If telling them 'none of your damn business' doesn't work, just say 'Auntie 'Tana's taking care of you'. That should shut most of them up. I fully support kicking Puck in the nuts if he – _when_ he gets annoying."

"What is _with_ your need to call yourself Auntie 'Tana? I don't remember anyone else ever shortening your name to that."

"For good reason."

"What?"

"I don't let them. Azimio's nose looked like it did because he tried it in fifth grade."

"Oh. Of course. I should have guessed."

"It's like you don't know me at all."

"Right. You know, I think I'm going to try it. Calling you 'Tana."

"Don't you dare."

"I feel like it's fair revenge for some of the names you've called me in the past. I'm also enjoying that anticipatory look on your face too much not to, too. In fact, I'm enjoying it so much this whole thing may be worth it after all."

" _Berry_... I'm warning you."

"...'Tana."

"Okay. That's how you want to play it. Tell me. _What_ does the look on my face _now_ say?"

"It says 'you-wouldn't-harm-the- _friend_ -who's-agreeing-to-go-to-the-Annual-Glee-Christmas-Meet-Up-and-Party-with-the-plan-of-lying-to-all-of-her-friends-and-presenting-a-false-impression-of-how-her-life-is-going- _just_ -because-her-friend-asked-her-to-pretend-to-be-her-fiancée.'"

"Oh for - ! That's low. Hiding behind agreeing to go with me."

"It's not low. It's practical. And ends non-violently."

"I don't buy it. Your sincerity. Nope. You're just saying you'll go with me to get away with calling me what you want."

"That may be true, but it's getting you a date, isn't it? I promise I'm being perfectly sincere. If you like, you can think of 'Tana as one of my pet names for you. Just for me."

" _One_ of? Fine. But you better be ready for what I come up with, too. And I'm warning you. They won't be pretty."

"I'm sure I'll manage."

"You say that _now_. Okay, so tell me, as I'm assuming you're not going to back down from _me_ wooing _you_ , what are you going to do about our differing stories about how we got together?"

"I'll just say you like to tell it your way, but it _really_ happened like _this_... It's not a very hard thing to do. They'll make up their own minds. And I am _very_ persuasive, 'Tana."

"Ugh. …You're lucky I'm marrying you."

"You too. 'Tana."

"Live it up, sweet cheeks. That's only lasting tonight."

"If you say so. Now excuse me, but I have to get used to saying it. ' _Tana_. 'Tana! 'Tana?"

"...And suddenly I'm not very surprised to find I'm regretting everything. Great. Should have expected something like this from the beginning."

"You really should have, Santana. I'm surprised you're only realizing that now. And, no you're not! Because you _love_ me. We're getting married! So, come on! Start getting in character! While we're getting ready we can go over _everything_ about our relationship and engagement. What made me fall for you? Say yes to marrying you? Because of _course_ you proposed to me. And how long have we officially been together? Oh, don't you roll your eyes at me! And put that frown away, too. I need to know _it all_ to better get into my character. And so do you - - ' _Tana_."


	3. Day 9

**Day 9: Character A vows to do something nice for a stranger during the Christmas time. Character B is that stranger.**

* * *

Santana Lopez had decided to turn a page. With the way her karma was probably permanently skewed towards the 'coming back as a weevil' direction, she figured doing something _so_ unstereotypically herself during the Christmas holidays would go a long way to swing her arrow more to 'closer to nirvana'.

Okay, that was a steaming load of crap, but it sounded good enough for any casual acquaintance or family member that would be willing to take her at face value that could ask. For her closest friends, however, they'd know, facing the threat of rather incriminating (and potentially life changing embarrassing) blackmail, she had a dare to uphold. It just sounded better if she lied and said it was something she came up with herself.

Just, she grumbled, stirring some sugar substitute into her coffee, she hadn't found someone that looked like they'd benefit the most from her personal brand of good will yet. You'd think living in a city such as New York it wouldn't be hard, but as a rule, Santana did her best to ignore the majority of the people who happened to occupy the same space as herself. She was _accustomed_ to overlook everyone aside from idly noting things she could mock if the opportunity came up to do so. That was how she rolled.

She sighed, tossing the now the empty packet at the trash, "Being nice sucks ass."

"I don't know about that," an unfamiliar voice spoke up from her left shoulder, causing Santana to jerk and almost spill her coffee over her hands.

"Hey! Watch it, will you?" she snapped, turning to give the person who had startled her a fierce glare.

Calm brown eyes met hers, a smaller woman around her age giving her a polite smile. "I apologize for surprising you. As well as I apologize for interrupting your personal observation. I just have to disagree."

Santana frowned at the brunette, a quick visual sweep of her body automatically registering that the woman was attractive, if obviously unaccustomed to showing herself off. Under her thick coat and fashionable scarf, jeans and flats barely suitable for the weather they were having, she was thin with dancer's legs, and Santana found herself minutely relaxing her attitude. Just minutely. It was still rude to interrupt her private thoughts.

"Being nice begets niceness in return. The dividends are worth the effort."

"Only if you're being selfless, and how often are people _truly_ selfless?" Santana countered, barely stepping aside so the woman could reach for a packet of sugar substitute for herself. "People have a tendency to suck. Why put forth the effort to be nice in the first place if you get nothing out of it?"

The woman gave her a slight lift of her lips, tearing open the substitute. "People have the free will to choose to 'suck' or not, and it's not always consistent. They can be negative one time, then positive two times. That chance makes a difference that should be taken into account instead of automatically assuming pointlessness, valid or not, and stopping before you start."

Santana smirked, crossing her arms with her coffee settled against her arm. "You're one of those hopeless optimists, aren't you?"

"Hardly." Replacing the lid on her coffee, the woman pushed hair behind her ear, meeting Santana's eyes again. "I am well acquainted with anticipating the worst. I just choose to believe in treating each instance where I have the opportunity to make my day better by facilitating the brightening of others' as individual chances to practice, among other things, my own humility."

Shuttering her eyes, Santana studied the woman who nonchalantly took a sip of her coffee, patiently waiting, eyes sparkling. Finally, "…Did you ingest a whole Merriam-Webster set when you were a kid?"

The woman laughed. "No. I've just always prided myself in being able to express myself clearly. If that entails a thesaurus-like vocab, so be it. Though my dads putting me in spelling bees all throughout my childhood certainly helped, I imagine."

Santana found herself having to fight back a smile at the absolute confidence the woman radiated, fully secure in sharing what she was. It was rare Santana encountered people who were so assured and not incredibly annoying about it. That deserved a few seconds of civility - but only a few. So, "Dads?" she asked instead of the immediate insult having to do with the nerdiness of spelling bees that had come to mind as well.

"Yes. I have two fathers."

The woman wasn't ashamed in the least, or shy in sharing that information, either. She was honestly proud, a sincere smile bright on her face. Santana hummed to herself, nails clacking on her coffee cup, eyes darting away for a second as her phone beeped. "Props."

"Thank you."

Santana shrugged. "Whatever." Pulling out her phone, she glanced at it. "Ah, crap, of course." Rolling her eyes, her forehead creasing, she set her coffee aside to quickly shoot a text back to her roommate. "It's amazing I can even leave the apartment, how much Quinn rides my ass," she stated distractedly, stashing her phone back into her pocket, "You'd think my job was to be more than just the real, hot one."

Dark eyebrows rose until they were lost under thick bangs, and the woman nodded. "I… See. Well, I won't keep you." Another smile lifted her lips, and she took a sip of her drink, "Thank you for allowing me to share my philosophy with you."

"No problem. It was good for a few laughs." Giving the woman a quick wink and quirk of her lips to ease the sting of her words, she zipped her jacket up before pulling her gloves out of her pockets in preparation to face the cold again. Nodding as a prelude to leaving, she rolled her eyes as her cell sounded again and turned away, about to pull it up to her ear to respond verbally when a sudden touch to her wrist stopped her.

Rummaging through her bag, holding a finger up in a silent wish for Santana to wait, the woman gave a small 'ahah!', pulling out her wallet. Taking a business card from it – _really?_ a business card at _her_ age? – and holding it out to Santana with a small, shy smile, she shrugged. "In case you'd like to finish our debate at a later date."

Feeling generous, Santana took it.

 _Rachel Berry, NYADA, Year Two_

On the back was a phone number.

Berry? What a strange surname, Santana thought, though maybe not so much if it came from two presumably gay men. And NYADA, huh? Explained the dancer's legs. That was actually a little impressive and… Okay, pretty hot.

Santana shrugged. Chances were she'd probably forget about it and the woman it came from later, but for some reason she didn't feel the urge to immediately trash it like she normally would. Weird. "Rachel." She smiled, pushing the card into her pocket. "I'm Santana."

"Santana." Rachel's smile grew again, "Nice to meet you."

"You too. But look, as much fun as this has been, I gotta book."

"Oh, of course." Taking a step back, Rachel nodded. "I won't keep you."

Throwing her hand up in response, Santana pulled her coffee closer to herself as she braced for the cold and falling snow that blew into her as she exited the coffee shop.

It hit her twenty minutes later on the subway, sandwiched between a young mother and a shifty looking punk, that she'd just been offered the perfect way to fulfill her dare. Taking the business card out of her pocket, she quickly entered the information into her phone – angled away from everyone because, _obvious_ – tapping it against her chin afterwards as she thought about how best to go about making communication with Rachel be _nice_ (aside from, you know, the simple act of gracing her with her attention, of course).

Well, no. That wasn't exactly what she needed to figure out, she corrected herself. What _was_ what she needed to figure out was what she could _do_ for Rachel that would be nice. The dare had been annoyingly specific.

Settling back into her seat, Santana decided she'd wait until she got back to the apartment to attempt anymore real headway. Quinn would have a good idea what to do. She was much better at knowing how to give people whatever it was they wanted. And really, giving Rachel whatever it was she wanted was the easiest way of being nice for her, right?

Santana ran through their encounter.

Well, considering what Rachel wanted was people _being_ nice just for _niceness' sake_ …

Dammit, Santana glared out the window across from her, crossing her arms tightly across her chest, she was going to owe Quinn _big time_ for her best chance to succeed, wasn't she?


	4. Day 2

**Day 2: Character A's best friend rigs the Secret Santa because they know Character A has a crush on Character B.**

* * *

Quinn couldn't believe what she was doing. Ambushing Puck, whose face had tightened after looking at his selection, eyes quickly darting toward the bossy diva before shaking his head and shoving the paper into his pocket, she forced him to a stop, holding out her hand. "Give it."

"What?" he asked.

"Rachel's name. Give it."

Puck narrowed his eyes. He crossed his arms. "Who do you have?"

Quinn breathed in through her nose. "Artie or Sam. Take your pick."

"What the hell would I get Artie? At least Sam an' me are bros." Taking the slip of paper that held Rachel's name out of his pocket, Puck paused before he exchanged with her. A leer started turning his lips up. "You're finally gonna make your move to get into Berry's skirts, huh?"

Frowning, Quinn snatched the paper away. "Only in your dreams. This is for someone else."

As the blonde walked away from him, leaving the paper with Sam's name in his hand, Puck watched her, scratching his mohawk. "Oh! Wait!" he called after her, "You don't mean Santana, do you?" When she didn't answer, he smirked broadly to himself. "Yeah. It's Santana. Hot."

* * *

"Got ya something."

Looking up at the blonde who had just strolled into her room, Santana rolled her eyes, not bothering to sit up from under her giant pile of blankets. "Nice job knocking, bitch." She coughed, "Eurgh, just make yourself at home."

"Nice job somehow making Sue not pull you into practice anyway," Quinn retorted, taking a seat at the end of the bed. "Here, this should make your day even better."

"That's the beauty of having your dad be not only one of the best doctors in the country but also a major backing of the Cheerios," Santana said, voice thick and stuck in her throat, not moving an inch, "Every so often she'll actually listen to his phone calls. How do you think I got us out of practice so often freshman year?" When Quinn slapped her leg, however, not looking amused, Sanana glowered before groaning, pushing herself up to support herself back against her headboard. "What?" she sniffled, pushing thick hair from her eyes; she looked suspiciously at the slip of paper Quinn was holding out for her. "If that's one of your mother's homemade prayer sheets, I _will_ spit into your mouth until you get as sick as I am."

Quinn wrinkled her nose, but she continued pushing the paper at her pale friend. "I would never speak to you again. That's just needlessly gross, as it is unsanitary."

"Would you prefer I french kissed you then?" Santana husked, somehow managing to make her usual arrogance shine through even though she fell into a coughing fit right after. "God, I feel like shit."

"You'll be better by tomorrow," Quinn waved her hand. She was still jealous that Santana, who rarely got sick, still managed to fight it off within three-or-four days, no matter what it was or how ill she became. "Now, c'mon, take this. I swear it's physically hurting my hand. Besides, I need you to take it so you can start paying me back. Immediately."

Santana yawned but slipped her hand just enough from her blankets so Quinn could slap it into her palm. "Like anything could… What?" She looked up, having to pause her full question as a coughing fit rumbled through her chest, "The fuck? Berry's signature?"

"Not just her signature." Shaking her head, Quinn smirked, smugly reaching up to tighten her hair tie, running her fingers through her ponytail. "It's her Glee Secret Santa entry. Congrats. Early Merry Christmas."

Santana stared at her. "You serious?"

"You're _welcome_."

* * *

Quinn watched as Rachel's name was never called, Mr. Schue staring puzzledly at the small Christmas tree that had been set up in the music room, all presents claimed. Rachel's eyes were large under a furrowed brow, her mouth pinched together as her shoulders steadily pulled tighter and tighter into her body; next to Quinn, Santana shifted, crossing her legs.

"Uh… Who had Rachel?" Mr. Schue asked hesitantly, looking at the group of teenagers who were slowly starting to realize what was happening. The happy chatter and comparing of presents quieted, heads turning to look between their teacher and Rachel, who now looked like she was about to start leaking tears.

Puck's eyes darted toward Quinn, but before he could open his mouth, Quinn sharply jerked her head to the side, warning him. Once satisfied he wasn't going to say anything, she turned back towards the tree. In her peripheral, Santana calmly stayed silent, the set of Whitney Houston's greatest hits courtesy of her Secret Santa resting on her lap.

Mr. Schue frowned. "Okay, this isn't funny, guys. Who had Rachel?"

"Maybe… Maybe you should look again, Mr. Schue," Rachel spoke up, voice strained. It was obvious she was trying to keep strong.

"I…" Looking uncomfortable, like he wanted to refuse or say it would be pointless, Mr. Schue slowly changed his mind, nodding before kneeling down to check under the branches one more time. Everyone except Santana, Rachel, and Quinn leaned forward, as if doing so would help something appear.

Except, Mr. Schue sighed, shaking his head as he stood up. "I'm sorry, Rachel," he offered gently.

Rachel blinked back welling tears, her hand immediately coming up to wipe at her eyes. "I… That's okay, Mr. Schue. Th-thank you for looking. Now, if you could excuse me, I'd…" Shooting to her feet, she was jerked to a stop when Finn flashed out, catching hold of her hand.

"Rache…" he whispered, looking apologetic with a soft look on his face, "Here, would you like some of my…" He juggled the giant plastic bear container he held in his other hand, glancing down at it, "Red and green gummy bears?"

Sniffing, Rachel brushed the bottom of her palm below her eye, gently disengaging her other hand. "Thank you, Finn, but I'm afraid gummy bears aren't vegan. I appreciate the offer, however." With a nod, she spun on her heel again, once again starting to rush out… but once at the door, she abruptly stopped, whirling around. Not looking at anyone in particular, she opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

"You know," she started, voice low, her hands clasped white in front of her, "Though I may be Jewish, I was excited to celebrate this Secret Santa with my teammates and f-friends. Thank you, whoever you are, for once again proving I'm so rarely considered as such back." Then, slapping a hand to her mouth, she finally sprinted out of the room, leaving behind an almost defeated air behind her. Finn and Mr. Schue, the only ones standing, practically slumped.

"Who didn't get Rachel a present?" Brittany wondered out loud, "That's really mean."

"Especially since everyone else got one…" Tina trailed off.

Puck sent a dark glare at both Quinn and Santana. "Not. Cool."

Quinn glared back at him, shaking her head and closing her eyes. "No, it wasn't." She turned to the girl still sitting immobile next to her.

Santana's lips tightened, but she didn't outwardly react.

"Santana." Whispering harshly, Quinn closed her hand around her friend's arm. "This was not what I thought you would do when I got her name for you!"

Jerking her arm back, Santana glared at her. "Shut up, Q. You don't know what I planned."

"Planned?"

Santana stood. Dark eyes squarely meeting Quinn's, she moved her gaze out to the rest of the glee club and the jazz band. "Wow. You all call her your friend, and yet no one's gone after her to see if she's okay." Ignoring the instant outcry her words got, she pulled up her backpack, stashing her CD set into it. "No, no," she held up her hand, stopping Mercedes and Kurt before they could fully get off the risers, "I's got it. I'm good at being real. You all would only feed her bad mood." Hopping down between the chairs, she didn't wait for anyone to move, pushing past Finn, who looked vaguely worried, and Mr. Schue, who was wavering at stopping her, his expression making it clear he was worried she'd make things worse.

Popping up as soon as Santana had exited, Quinn wrapped her hand in the back of Puck's shirt, pulling him up with her as she followed. "Everyone else stay here," she said over Puck's yelp, only letting go when he fell into step with her, "We'll follow to make sure she doesn't kill Rachel."

"Dude," Puck groaned, rubbing the front of his neck where his collar had dug in, "Why'd you grab me? I don't want Santana mad at me!"

"Because if Santana totally screws Rachel over, you're as culpable as I am for the fallout."

"What? No I'm not! _You're_ the one who pounced on me! I could have come up with something. Gotten my fellow hot Jew something – !"

Quinn threw out her hand, cutting him off with a sharp hiss, her knuckles hitting his chest. She ducked behind the door leading into the auditorium, Puck scrambling to a stop as well. Waiting a couple of moments, they peeked around the door, Quinn doing her best to ignore the weight of the jock against her back.

"Dude, you _seeing_ this?" Puck hissed. He sounded as surprised as Quinn felt.

Santana and Rachel were sitting on the edge of the stage, Santana's arm wrapped around Rachel's shoulders, her other hand rubbing the smaller girl's back as she settled against her chest. They were talking quietly, Santana pausing every now and then, suddenly shrugging as Rachel lightly slapped her side, sitting back and pointing at her. Smirking, unapologetic in the least, Santana fished inside her backpack, turning back after drawing out a small wrapped present the size of a jewelry case.

"No way…" Puck exhaled. "What do you think it is?"

Quinn elbowed him. "Shh!"

"What? I'm just askin'! Stop hitting the Puckster!"

Back in the auditorium, Rachel was staring down at the present, holding it reverently. Santana murmured something, and she laughed, shaking her head before starting to slowly unwrap it. Setting aside the paper and then pausing a second before opening the box, glancing up at Santana as she did so, an audible gasp met Puck and Quinn's ears, a high-pitched squeal following soon after. "Santana! You got me _bling_?" She gazed up at Santana with sparkling eyes and red cheeks both teens could see from where they were.

When Santana shrugged again, a light mask of embarrassment covering her features, a crooked smile lifting her lips, Quinn pushed herself back, shoving Puck off balance so he'd retreat from the doors. "Okay! They're fine. Let's go."

"What?" Puck stared incredulously at her, throwing an arm out to point at the auditorium. "We can't go! Didn't you see the same thing I did? They're going to make out! With each other! Rachel totally has that, 'going to kiss you now' expression on her face, and when has Santana _ever_ been so nice to her? She's totally into her! I've known that even before you got me to give you Rachel's name."

Putting her hands on her hips, Quinn leveled her best glare at him. "Puck. Do you want Santana to kill you? That's what she's going to do if you stay here. And do you really think Rachel would leave you alone if she caught you spying, either?"

Practically vibrating, his head jerking back and forth from Quinn and the auditorium, Puck dropped his mouth open, his jaw working. "Bu… Bu…"

Quinn raised an eyebrow, and Puck groaned, running a hand over his mohawk. He turned on his heel, punching an open locker door closed as he stalked past it, grumbling and growling to himself. Chancing a quick glance back to see if either girl had noticed, Quinn's eyes widened before she forced herself to turn and start down the hallway as well.

She didn't know if she'd ever get the image of Santana, sitting with Rachel in between her legs with her hands on her shoulders like having just gotten done fastening a necklace, kissing Rachel slowly and softly, Rachel's hand on her cheek, pulling her closer, out of her head.

Shaking off the shock, Quinn had to smile proudly to herself. Turns out her plan worked out even better than she had ever thought it would.

…

Santana _so_ owed her.


	5. Day 6

**Day 6: Character A and Character B meet in the ER on Christmas Eve.**

* * *

Santana was drunk. She knew she was. The room was spinning, her legs weren't listening to her, and the cute orderly who had led her into the waiting room was now looking an awful lot like Rachel Berry.

"Santana?" the orderly questioned, a strong hand pressing into Santana's waist, another cupping her elbow, helping her take a seat, "What are you… Are you okay?"

Santana grinned, reaching a hand up to touch the orderly's cheek. "You even sound like Rachel Berry."

Plush lips frowned, fine eyebrows furrowing. "That's because I _am_ Rachel Berry." Moving her head away, the orderly sat down next to her, a hand now curling on her knee. "Santana. What happened?"

Cocking her head, Santana tried to reach out towards dark brown bangs, a fine hand intercepting her, tugging hers down. "You know my name."

"Yes."

"Do I know you?"

The orderly nodded. "Yes."

"Oh. Okay." Looking down, watching small fingers gently hold hers, Santana flexed her fingers. She closed her eyes; the dizziness was coming back again. Dropping her head down, she had to smile as a small squeak left the orderly's mouth, Santana's forehead bumping into her shoulder. "Mmm… You smell nice."

"I...'m surprised you _can_ smell. You're letting off the odor of a distillery."

"You're not. You're really soft…"

Hot breath skittered across the back of her neck, fingernails digging momentarily into her hand. "Santana? Do you know why you're here?"

Slowly shaking her head, still leaning on the Rachel Berry lookalike, Santana exhaled heavily. "I think… Who brought me here?"

"I don't know. You stumble, uhm, limped in here five minutes ago, white as a sheet and mumbling something about not being able to stand up straight."

Oh. That made sense. Santana _couldn't_ stand up straight. She could remember that much. That, and bright, flashing lights right before a throbbing, sharp pain in her ankle. Curiously flexing her feet, she gasped, almost doubling over, the top of her head skimming down nicely shaped breasts. "Oh!" she exhaled, "Guess it's not just… Not just _alcohol_ that made it hard to walk."

"So you are drunk."

A low laugh managed to slip from Santana's lips even as she shifted, tears welling in the corners of her eyes as her ankle spiked in pain again. How had she blocked that out? "I had a couple of mixed drinks," she answered diplomatically. Easing her feet down, whimpering as her right ankle met the floor, she slowly brought her head up. "Do you want a drink? I think I have some more in my jacket…" Reaching for the pockets of her jacket, she stopped as two hands wrapped around her head, thumbs resting on her cheekbones, urging her to look up into sharp, dark eyes. She swallowed. "You don't want drinks?"

"No." Plush lips firmed, dark, searching eyes meeting her bleary gaze. "Santana." The thumbs brushed at the edges of her eyes again, wiping away her tears, "I _know_ you didn't get here by yourself."

"Why? Because it's Christmas Eve? Oh! It's _Christmas Eve_!" Santana wrapped her hands around the orderly's wrists. "Drink, celebrate with me?"

Before the orderly – who was looking more and more like Rachel Berry with every passing minute – could respond, rapid footsteps met Santana's ears, a panicky pitched, panting male voice following soon after. "Sorry, sorry!" Puck gasped, his calloused, less soft hands wrapping around Santana's, pulling her away from the sexy girl Santana still wanted to hit on, "I got her."

"Oh you do, do you?" the girl's completely unamused voice asked, "Tell me, _Noah_ , why is she here in the first place?"

Puck swallowed, his hard chest abruptly meeting the side of Santana's head as he yanked her into him, her body pliable as pain lanced through her ankle.

In tandem with the pain, "Dammit!" Santana cursed, curling into him just because he was there, her nails digging into his arms and skin.

"It's my fault," Puck's throat bobbed, his grasp easing as Santana pressed into his abs, trying to push herself up because it felt better to do so, her mind as drunk and off-kilter as it had been ever since she'd entered the hospital. "I couldn't stop her from falling into the street."

"The street…?" Santana asked.

Puck nodded above her head. "She hurt herself falling off the curb."

" _On Christmas Eve_?" Rachel's voice rode over hers.

Puck shrugged. He wrapped his arms around Santana, twisting her around so she leaned back into him, only weak urging needed to make her lift her legs up, resting on the chairs between her and… _Was that really Rachel Berry?_

"You're as Jewish as I am," her old boyfriend answered, "Are you really surprised I was finding a better way to spend the night?"

Slitting her eyes closed, watching Rachel sit forward, hands clasped in her lap and staring daggers at Puck's head above hers, Santana couldn't help smirking broadly at the reaction she was eliciting from him; she all but desperately kept all her attention opposite her so she didn't vomit at the pain in her ankle and the alcohol running through her system.

 _Jesus_. That was _really_ Rachel Berry.

"Color me non-surprised that it involved alcohol," The _real_ Rachel answered, voice dry.

" _Non-surprised!_ " Santana abruptly crowed, kicking her non-hurt foot at the other girl. "You're… You really… Why are _you_ here?"

Rachel dropped her gaze. "…Burningholidaypuddingspilledonmydad," she puffed.

"What?" Puck asked.

Rachel glared at him. " _You heard me_."

Santana sat forward, moving against Puck's arms. She bit back an expletive as pain once again surged through her. "Black-daddy or Jewish-dad?" she asked.

Still unamused eyes met Santana's. "Does it matter?" Rachel asked stiffly.

"Only so long as it means you…"

"Santana Lopez?" a nurse suddenly announced, cutting her off, and Santana turned her head towards him. "Me?" she asked.

Puck poked her side, pushing her up so he could slide out from under her, Rachel sitting forward enough so she could grab her hands, wrapping around them so Santana could tense her arms, pulling herself up; gasping as her bad foot met the floor, Santana pitched forward, suddenly stopping as Rachel surged up, making her topple into her chest. "Got you, got you," the smaller girl breathed, her arm sliding around Santana's side, Puck moving into place to take her other arm.

Turning her head, staring at the purposefully looking away Rachel Berry, Santana kept swiveling around to keep an eye on the other girl as the nurse, taking her place, urged her down the hall and into the ER, Puck finally dropping away as well as the ER doors opened before them.

"Wait," Santana protested, limping and whimpering each time her foot met the floor, "I wasn't ready. I need to…"

The male nurse hummed humoringly, tightening his arm around her waist. "If you follow our instructions," he turned his head, smiling at her, "You'll get done soon. She might be still in the waiting room."

Santana blinked at him. "You think so?"

"I do." Helping her onto a waiting bed, he gently took her leg, nodding as she hissed and ducking an automatic swing of her arm as pain shot through her, continuing to feel out her ankle.

Still drunk and dizzy, Santana clenched her jaw shut. "If she's not still there when we're done," she threatened the harried looking doctor who walked up to her moments later, blinking as she snapped in her face, "It's on you. It's on you!"

* * *

Countless minutes – possibly hours – later, Santana stumped back into the hospital's general waiting room. Looking past Puck's guilty, shiny forehead and abrupt jump from his seat, she zeroed in on the girl still sitting in a chair behind him.

"Well, well, well," she offered, clunking her walking cast down on the floor as she passed Puck, pushing her hand out at him to stop him from hurrying towards her, "Look who's still here."

Setting her phone down, looking up from it, Rachel Berry – who really _was_ Rachel Berry _fucking god_ – raised her eyebrows. She looked down, surveying the cast on Santana's ankle. "Santana," she breathed, "Are you okay?"

Santana shrugged. "I'm awesome. Badass. How're you? Heard from your dad yet?"

Pink rose on Rachel's cheeks, and she looked away. "I'm sure he's fine," she answered.

Nodding, Santana sat into the seat next to her, exhaling loudly as her ass dropped into it, her ankle giving way before she was ready. "Oh, _fuck_ ," she gasped, throwing up her hand before Rachel moved forward, mirroring the motion with her other side before Puck could move even closer as well, "I'm kay. I'm kay."

"You sure?" Puck asked. He slunk up behind her.

Rolling her head back, propping it against the back of the chair, Santana rolled her eyes as well, fishing the prescription she'd been given out of her pocket. Pushing it toward Puck, she nodded. "Fill this, and I will be. It's your fault, after all, ain't it?"

Puck groaned but plucked the prescription from her, turning on his heel to head out to his car, hissing at her that he expected her to get her own ride back. He was willing to get the prescription, but he was only going to leave it at her front door, wanting to head back to his party before everything and everyone left.

Waving her hand in the air, Santana smirked, managing a wink at Rachel. "Fine," she offered to the boy's back, voice syrupy, "I'm already set for the next few hours."

Rachel, watching Puck leave, turned back as the automatic doors slid shut behind him. "You're willing to wait with me?" she asked quietly.

Santana looked at her. "Berry." She sat forward in her seat, "You were there for me, drunk and all over you as I was." She tilted her head, purposefully making a scrunched face, faux apologetic expression; opening her eyes, she smirked at Rachel's reactionary laugh and small smile, "Let me at least, out of the _goodness_ of my heart and the deafening sound of mi abuela yelling at me that I _have_ to give back on the sacred night before baby Christ was born if I ever hope to make it through the pearly gates, try and pay you back. You know. By waiting for your dads at least and stuff."

Sucking her lower lip into her mouth, Rachel looked away. Finally nodding, her lips quirked up. "I… I would like that. If you're sure." She met Santana's eyes again, her smile broadening, "You really weren't all that annoying, you know. You just seemed incredibly unable to believe that I really _was_ me."

Santana groaned, shaking her head. " _Don't_ remind me! I blame the alcohol. But don't worry. I've been guzzling water so it shouldn't happen again. Even got rid of the alcohol I had stashed in my jacket." Grinning, she reached out, nudging Rachel's shoulder. "And I'm totally sure," she promised. "I already got some _awesome_ painkillers. I'm good for the next… Oh, at least hour or so. Got my phone! If you don't entertain me, I can always play Candy Crush. Might even do so anyway, while you talk my ears off…" She laughed at Rachel's rolled eyes, then leaned back in her seat, slightly switching the subject, "I'm not expected to show up at my cousin's house anytime soon. Especially not if I tell them…" She looked down at her cast. "Well, _some_ of what happened."

"Not all?" Rachel asked leadingly, eyebrows raised.

"You kidding? Mi abuela would shake her finger at me and tell me it's the curse of baby Jesus, punishing me because it was all my fault."

Humming, Rachel nodded. "From what Puck said, it _was_ all your fault."

Scoffing, Santana shook her head, straightening so she could stare pointedly at dancing brown eyes. "Okay, look, I know you and he have some weird, Jewish-bro thing going on, sticking together even more because it's Christmas Eve, but _no_." She crossed her arms, tossing her hair, "What he said is _not_ how it went down."

"Do you even know what he said?"

"Doesn't matter. Didn't happen."

"Oh, so you _didn't_ dive off the sidewalk because you saw a giant glowing Santa Claus across the street and wanted to make sure you got to sit on his lap before he rode away in his sleigh so he'd give you the bling you wanted for Christmas…?"

" _Dammit_ , Puck!"


	6. Day 13

**Day 13: Character A's little sibling/child wants to meet their favorite celebrity/writer/person for Christmas. Character B is said "Christmas present".**

* * *

"Hold on, hold on," Santana chided gently, wrapping her hand around her younger brother's sleeve, keeping a hold on his sweater even as it pulled far past his hand. "Cesar! If you don't stop running ahead, I won't be able to be there to get you in."

"I'm just excited, Sanny!" Practically vibrating, his head bobbing up and down as he shuffled back and forth on his feet, Cesar squeezed her hand tightly, beaming brightly at the security guard and the other people in line as they took their spot at the back, the young boy barely able to wait for Santana to show their backstage passes.

Grinning, Santana ruffled his hair as soon as they were allowed to relax, the passes slipped back into her pocket. "Really? I thought maybe you were bored beyond belief."

"As if!" Cesar turned wide, incredulous eyes upon her, mouth dropping open, "I'm about to meet Rachel Berry! It's Christmas Eve, and I'm about to meet Rachel Berry!"

"And _who's_ the one who's made this possible…?" Santana asked leadingly, smirking.

Looking up at her, his mouth open, Cesar whacked her arm. "Sanny! You know how thankful I am!"

"Oh, I do, do I?"

Thin arms abruptly wrapped around Santana's waist, her brother's face pressing tightly into her abdomen.

Flushing as audible awws from the people around her met her ears, Santana hugged back. "Okay, okay," she patted Cesar's back, "I get it. Look. We're almost at the front."

"We _are_?" Shoving himself around, Cesar danced excitedly as he waited for the couple of people in front of him to move forward even more.

A presence closed in on Santana's back. "He's adorable," a husky voice commented, hazel eyes and a pretty smile meeting Santana's gaze as she turned, her hand immediately flashing out to catch the back of Cesar's sweater.

"I know," Santana smirked, tilting her head.

A blonde, about her age and holding a collector's edition of Rachel Berry's latest Teen Beat magazine, studied her flirtatiously. "You're a good sister. If I had a younger sibling, I'd hope to be as nice as you."

Santana cocked her hip, purposefully plumping her lips as she kept half an eye on her brother. "It's a rewarding job," she answered.

"I bet," the girl responded, possibly about to extend some other playful comment; before she could, however, Cesar's hand suddenly grabbed at hers, the young boy tugging Santana forward before she could get anywhere else with the blonde.

"San! _Sanny_! We're _going_!"

Laughing, managing one last glance back and apologetic quirk of her eyebrows, Santana fell into step with her brother, squeezing his hand tightly.

A few twists and turns through industrial hallways, a large, husky security guard surveying them before opening one last door with a large, golden star affixed securely in the middle, and suddenly Rachel Berry, Cesar Lopez's latest favorite singer, sat at a makeup station, carefully removing the stage makeup she'd been rocking during her show not an hour before.

Struck silent, Cesar gaped, his body subconsciously backing up until he hit Santana's legs and waist.

Santana, even preoccupied with watching her younger brother spaz out at his latest hero, couldn't help admiring how striking and _beautiful_ Rachel Berry looked. The young woman was still flushed with the exertion of her concert, smiling and glowing, somehow genuinely happy to see them as she swung around in her chair.

"Hi!" the young woman chirped, finishing up her last swipe of her makeup pad, red lipstick leaving her lips a still enticing shade of pink, "Sorry for the mess I must look."

"You look beautiful," Cesar breathed, distracted, abruptly glowing red as what he said registered.

Giggling honestly, Rachel smiled broadly. "Thank you! You're very sweet." Standing, she held out her hand, graciously taking Cesar's and shaking strongly before moving her gaze up, meeting Santana's. "Hi," she continued smiling.

Santana stared at her. "…Hi," she breathed, coughing when Cesar nudged her with his elbow, laughing behind his hand. "I, sorry, I'm Santana. And this's Cesar."

"Cesar?" Rachel grinned, turning her attention back to the young boy, "Nice to meet you, Cesar."

"And you!" Cesar immediately repeated. His eyes sparkled, his hands trembling as they clutched at the strap of his messenger bag. "Can I get a picture with you?" he suddenly spouted.

Rachel laughed. "I'd be happy to," she responded, gaze moving from Cesar to Santana, "Would you…?"

Already nodding, smiling, Santana moved into position, taking out her phone. "I'll text you the pic," she promised, reading her brother's expression; lifting her phone and opening the camera app, she had to smile as Cesar, almost frozen, pressed in close to the woman he'd been hero-worshiping ever since she'd come upon the scene, squeaking as a slim arm slid along his shoulders, pulling him into a trim, in shape side. She raised her eyebrows. "Say cheese."

"Cheese!" both Cesar and Rachel repeated, eyes alight, smiling widely.

After taking the picture and another just to make sure, Santana had to pause, grinning as she looked at her brother. He was positively star struck, staring up at Rachel as if she hung the moon. "Got it," she sang.

Almost immediately, "My turn!" Cesar jumped forward, taking her phone from her and turning the lens onto her. "I want a picture of you two together!"

Laughing, shaking her head, Santana shrugged confidently. "I'm game if you are."

Rachel smiled back at her. "Come here," she curled her finger at her, beckoning her forward, her nose scrunching as well.

Keeping her eyes on Rachel as she pressed her cheek to hers, Santana barely acknowledged Cesar when he tried to draw her attention back to him. Her heart was pounding, the feeling she'd had all during Rachel's concert even worse when in close contact with the singer. Trying to lean back, away from her so she could concentrate satisfactorily, Santana swallowed, her hand brushing along Rachel's waist anyway when she pulled back.

Somehow managing to make it through the next five minutes, present enough to enjoy her brother's young, clumsy attempts at being suave and flirtatious, and feeling like the extra money she'd spent to acquire the backstage passes (on Christmas Eve, no less) had been completely worth it, Santana allowed herself to feel equal parts smug and satisfied.

The smile she got, when being wished a good night and thank you, Cesar practically catatonic as Rachel hugged him in gratitude and goodbye as well, pressing concert swag into both of their arms and being 100% authentic with a whispered promise to look them both up via pics on facebook, please and thank you…?

Total and complete, heart racing, barely able to answer Cesar with the wide, overwhelming smile on her face as they walked back to her car, _extra_.


	7. Day 16

**Day 16: Character A bakes too many Christmas cookies so they share them with Character B.**

* * *

Shifting back and forth on her feet, wondering if she was doing the right thing or if her incredibly attractive neighbor, Santana, was going to yell at her again for waking her up on her _one_ day off, Rachel held her plate of sugar cookies out in offering in case the woman looked through her peephole. Finally, just as she was deciding to try and knock again and give up if nothing happened, the door swung open.

Disheveled, bleary eyed but clutching a mug of coffee in her hand, Santana stared at her. "You're lucky I was already up," she grunted.

"I can see that." Looking at the coffee mug, then back to groggy dark eyes, Rachel abruptly proffered her plate up, smiling brightly. "Merry Christmas!" she chirped, "I made too many and was wondering if you wanted some?"

Her neighbor blinked. "You knock on my door at…" Leaning back, ostensibly to look at a clock to her left, Santana came back with a slightly less severe expression, "Okay, three PM, to offer me cookies?"

"Yes."

"Because you made too many?"

Her smile dimming, Rachel pushed the plate closer towards Santana. "They have reindeer antlers and Santa hats."

Santana's gaze lowered. "Is that… a Star of David?"

Rachel nodded. "I'm Jewish."

A sudden, amused snort left Santana's mouth, and she clapped her (thankfully) empty hand to her mouth. "You're Jewish and you were making _Christmas cookies_?"

Frowning, Rachel pulled the plate closer to herself, still politely close to Santana but obviously demonstrating her tempering of enthusiasm. "Am I not allowed to enjoy the holiday festivities? Besides, the children's home I'm baking them for is largely inhabited by those of the Christian and Catholic faith, if not those who are just happy to have any excuse to bring some cheer into their lives."

"And yet you slipped some Hanukkah reindeer in there as well."

"I'm sure some children might prefer some that reference the Jewish Festival of Lights."

Santana smirked. "You sure you just didn't want to betray your God?"

" _My_ God is the _same_ God," Rachel snapped, firmly deciding this whole endeavor was a complete disaster. "Look, either you want some festive cookies, or you don't. I have better uses of my time that I could be doing instead of standing on your doorstep, getting insulted."

"I'm not insulting you, but sure. Cookies – free cookies – are rarely a bad thing." Putting her hand out, Santana smiled as Rachel practically pushed the plate into it, huffing. She took a closer look at them, lifting up the plastic wrap. "These aren't poisoned, are they?"

"No, they most certainly are not!" Stomping to her apartment, Rachel, though she didn't slam the door, did close it more heavily than normal. She knew it wasn't her imagination that she'd heard a smoky chuckle as she'd left. " _How_ ungrateful _was_ she?" she snapped to herself, needing to pace back and forth on the floor in front of her kitchen, "I don't even know why I bothered. Such a… Such a waste of good intentions! See if I ever try to do something nice for her again!"

* * *

The next evening, arriving home after a grueling shift at the diner, Rachel already had her keys out and in her gloved hand when she noticed the folded note taped to her door. Her name was scrawled on top in an unfamiliar hand, and pulling it off, she glanced around in case anyone was hiding, ready to pounce on her. Seeing no one, and deciding to look at it in the safety of her apartment, she finished letting herself in. Once she had shrugged off her coat, her gloves getting set down onto their spot next to the door, and the door safely locked behind her, she pulled the note back up.

 _Rachel_

She flipped the note open.

 _So those were fucking awesome cookies. Even the blasphemous non-Christmas ones. I actually kept one for when my girlfriend comes round, seeing as her favorite color is blue. His name is Herbert._

 _Santana_

Smiling, Rachel grabbed the notepad she kept on the refrigerator.

 _I hope Herbert gets the decent funeral and memorial he deserves. Would you like some more? They could be witnesses for the service._

 _Rachel Berry*_

Leaving her apartment, Rachel only paused for a few seconds before slipping the note under Santana's door, not as optimistic as her neighbor that the note would not be disturbed by the time Santana arrived back home. Getting back to her own, she pulled out the plate of leftover cookies. There weren't many, but there were, indeed, some more Jewish brothers and sisters Rachel figured Santana's girlfriend would probably enjoy. Shifting all but one onto a new plate, hoping she'd get back her original plate before she had to lend Santana another one, she then added two Christmas ones, figuring it wouldn't hurt to give her more of those as well. Wrapping up the new plate with saran wrap, and setting it next to the original plate, she smiled as she closed and patted the refrigerator door.

Now she just had to wait for Santana to get back to her.

* * *

The next day, right as Rachel curled up on her couch with a gossip magazine and a steaming cup of tea, three sharp knocks sounded on her door. Curious that it may be her neighbor, Rachel sighed, bothering to get up. She _really_ hoped it wasn't the superintendent like it had been the last two times.

Sure enough, Santana was waiting at her door, immediately smiling at the sight of her, Rachel's clean and empty plate tucked under her arm. "Hey," she greeted, holding out the plate, "Those were kick-ass cookies. Thanks."

Returning her smile, Rachel accepted the plate and stepped back into her apartment, beckoning Santana in to follow. "I'm assuming you'd like more?" she said over her shoulder, leading the other woman to her kitchen.

"That would be awesome. Herbert would probably enjoy the company before his fate."

"Is he facing it with dignity?"

Santana smirked, laughing softly. "Surprisingly. He's one strong reindeer."

Rachel laughed as well. Taking out her already prepared plate, she happily passed it along. "Here. Enough to have a decent feast, I think."

"And I thought _I_ was the twisted one. Thanks."

Smiling, Rachel paused. "So, you… have a girlfriend?"

Santana's face brightened, and she nodded, her smile growing, becoming more sincere. "I do, yeah. Her name's Dani. She's actually coming over later tonight, when her shift at the diner ends. You can meet her, if you'd like." She smirked, leaning in, "Take part in the ritual sacrifice."

"Wait, Dani? About my height, currently blue hair?"

"You know her?"

Laughing, Rachel shook her head. "I work with her. At the Spotlight Diner. Small world!" She couldn't help studying Santana with new eyes. Having heard all the stories of Dani's "amazing, great, romantic girlfriend", she softly cleared her throat, pushing her hair behind her ear. Santana certainly was as beautiful as Dani had said. Of course, Rachel had always thought so, even without knowing Santana and her coworker's girlfriend were one and the same. It figured.

"Okay!" Clapping her hands together, the plate of cookies temporarily placed on the counter of Rachel's kitchen, Santana smirked at her again, "Now it's definitely decided. You're coming over. No ifs ands or buts."

"Now?"

"Now."

"But I have a cup of tea waiting…" Rachel looked at her couch yearningly.

Scoffing, Santana knocked her shoulder with her own as she walked past her. "I have wine and amazing cookies. Tea can wait for boring times when you don't have the attention of the amazing person that is myself. C'mon! You're going to tell me your best embarrassing stories of Dani that she'd never tell me herself."

Rachel wavered on her feet before sighing, giving in and trailing after Santana. However, she detoured, grabbing up her tea, giving Santana a smug, teasing smile from behind the mug as she took a sip.

Santana rolled her eyes but didn't say anything, instead gesturing at the direction of Rachel's door, her eyebrows raised in a 'well?' expression.

"Okay, fine. But do _not_ let me leave my mug at your place. You're not going to get my dishware, one piece at a time."

"Hey, I gave you back your first plate, didn't I?" Preceding Rachel out, and waiting somewhat patiently as she slipped on a pair of house slippers and grabbed her keys and cell phone, locking her door after her, Santana led the way to her own apartment.

"Before we begin the fun stuff," she pushed her door open, letting Rachel in first, "You _gots_ to tell me – how come that smokin' hot blonde lady-dancer doesn't come around anymore? From the two months straight of deafening sex sounds coming from your apartment, it certainly sounded like she knew what was up. _How_ could you give that up?"

Rachel choked on her tea.

"Hell, I'd only _just_ adjusted to being able to sleep through you two. Even started thinking about coming over to ask for a physical demonstration." Santana winked. She placed the plate of cookies onto the coffee table

Her cheeks burning, Rachel continued hiding herself behind her mug. "You mentioned wine?" she practically squeaked.

Santana's laugh as she headed into the kitchen, followed by another one when Rachel raised her voice to add, "I thought you wanted to hear about Dani!", was her only answer.

Groaning, Rachel picked up a reindeer and bit into it, sinking down onto the plush couch Santana had pointed at.

 _Oh_. She looked down at the cookie. It really _was_ good.

Well, at least she had that. Maybe stalling for time until Dani arrived wouldn't be so hard after all. Talking about her sex life, while in the first place wasn't something she _ever_ really wanted to do, doing it with _Santana_ , her exceptionally hot neighbor she'd just found out had a girlfriend and could hear humming something lovely and in tune in the kitchen…?

Rachel took another sip of her tea. _Definitely_ something she'd rather steer the conversation away from.


	8. Day 3

**Day 3: Character A works as a Santa's helper. Character B has a small sibling/child.**

* * *

"Can't you behave yourself for _once_?" Santana exclaimed exasperatedly, grabbing at her younger sister's hand, "You're acting even worse than _Cesar_ when I took him to see Santa!"

Mariel gasped, turning to look up at her with an almost wounded look on her face. "San! You take that back!"

Grinning, Santana slowed them, hugging the small girl to her as they took their place at the end of the line. "Alright, alright, I take that back. Still, got you to behave, didn't it?"

Mariel pouted, crossing her arms, "That was mean." She squeaked, swatting at her older sister's hand when Santana poked her cheek.

"Eh." Santana shrugged, "We're here and it's hours until Santa goes home. Look. Can you see him yet?" She helped steady Mariel when she pushed up on her tiptoes, leaning down to point at the younger girl's eye level.

Searching, Mariel shook her head, frowning. "No, not yet. You sure he's here?"

"I am, but I'll still make sure, kay?" Scanning Santa's alcove and all the fake snow and trees and piled presents around them, Santana practically face faulted when she registered who the elf she was looking at, making her way down the line of parents and kids, was. "No freaking way…" she breathed, taking in the surprisingly attractive form of one Rachel Berry.

To her dismay, the elf-dressed Rachel had no compunction about greeting her, eyes sparkling and lips splitting into a wide, welcome smile as she moved her gaze from Santana to her sister. "Santana! Hi!" she chirped, all green and red and jingle bells and pointed ears, crouching down to reach Mariel's level, "And hello to you too."

"Mariel," Mariel supplied shyly, cheeks pinkening as she pressed closer into Santana's legs.

"Mariel." Pushing her hand forward, offering it to Mariel to shake, Rachel beamed. "I'm Rachel. You here to see Santa?"

As if a switch flicked, Mariel perked up, returning Rachel's shake. "Definitely!" she bounced on her toes, "You're… You're an elf?"

Rachel's gaze flicked to meet Santana's. "I am, sweetie," she nodded.

"You're certainly short enough," Santana snickered, barely hiding it behind her hand. However, before Rachel could really react, insult flashing across her face, Mariel whapped her leg, eliciting an immediate, "Hey!"

"You be nice," Mariel told her seriously.

Glowering, but giving in, Santana stiffly inclined her head. "Sorry," she muttered, not really meaning it in the least.

Rachel waved it off. "It's okay. It's what I get, being an elf and working with Santa." Quirking her brow at Santana, _daring_ her to comment, a real smile crossed her lips when the older girl huffed but didn't respond. When Mariel asked, "Do you like being an elf?" she nodded, smiling broadly; after a few moments, she winked, adding, "The reindeer are my favorite part."

"They'd be my favorite part, too!" Mariel exclaimed, jumping up and down. "Who's your favorite? Rudolph? Blitzen? Someone else?"

Rachel hmmed, a finger to her chin, leading them forward with the advancing line, "Though they're all nice, I have to say… Comet. It's the astronomy lover in me, I think."

"You want to be the first elf in space?" Santana snorted.

A sharp elbow impacted her stomach, Mariel glaring at her. "San. Why are you being so mean?"

"I'm not being _mean_ ," Santana protested, but she gave in, rolling her eyes, lifting her hands in the air. "Fine. Whatever," she said dryly, "That's so interesting. Astronomy, wow!"

Rachel smiled at her. "Thank you, Santana, I like to think so too."

Before Santana could react to that statement, however, Mariel brought the attention back to her. "Wait, if you work with Santa," she looked between Santana and Rachel, "Then how do you know Santana?"

"…Because I've been working closely with Santa this year," Santana answered, "One of Sue's rules about being a Cheerio." Knowing her sister's almost star struck response to the Cheerios, she figured that would be enough.

Indeed, Mariel turned to her. Her eyes were wide. "Coach knows Santa Claus?"

"Of course!" It was Rachel that answered. "She… Likes to take over when Santa has some trouble delivering all of his presents."

Moving forward with the line again, Mariel barely stopped before crashing into the people in front of her, eyes still on Rachel. "Santa has trouble delivering his presents?"

"Oh definitely!" Rachel responded at the same time Santana started with, "With how many new babies are born each year…"

The two girls looked at each other, Santana finally shaking her head and giving in, turning to her sister. "He sometimes needs help. Where do you think I am each Christmas Eve?"

"You're not over at Puck's, getting silly and stupid?" Mariel asked innocently.

Rachel's laugh pealed, her hand barely stifling it.

Glaring momentarily at her, Santana shook her head again, giving her sister a pointed look. " _No_ ," she frowned, crossing her arms over her chest, " _Not_ just that. I'm filling in when needed."

"Really?"

Both Rachel and Santana nodded, Rachel smiling at her. "Really."

Mariel smiled back. "That's so _cool_!"

"Yeah, yeah," Santana nodded at her before moving her chin forward, lips turning up as she urged her sister to turn and look forward, pointing, "Look where we are in line!"

Now almost at the front, Mariel's hand curled around Santana's, practically vibrating as her total attention turned onto the white-bearded man who was suddenly in view. Watching her affectionately, Santana only looked up when a soft touch brushed along her forearm.

"You going to want a picture?" The Rachel Berry elf asked quietly.

Briefly looking down at the small hand on her arm, Santana lifted her gaze, meeting the elf's. "Yeah." She nodded, voice just as quiet.

"Great." Giving her a small, sincere smile, Rachel took a step directly back, moving out of the flow of the line but keeping in step with her and Mariel. "I'll set it up with the," she made bunny ear motions, "Senior Elf."

Santana laughed. "You're absolutely loving this, aren't you?"

"The atmosphere?" Rachel grinned. "Absolutely. But honestly? At least your sister's old enough I don't have to worry about overflowing diapers."

Laughing again at the face the other girl made, Santana nodded again as well, moving forward with her sister. "I can't even imagine. Gross."

Rachel winked. "You have no idea." She smiled, "Okay. I'll get everything set up. If you'll excuse me…?"

"Yeah, yeah." Turning back to her sister, attention moving forward towards Santa and where the camera was located, Santana looked back almost in afterthought. "Awesome. …Thanks."

Rachel smiled softly, nodding, eyes sparkling even as she moved forward, out of Santana's line of sight, ducking momentarily behind a giant candy cane.

Watching her go, Santana only turned back when Mariel's grip tightened around her hand. "Yeah," she promised, smiling broadly at her sister, "I'll be there, adding my Christmas wish to yours. With our powers combined, I'm _sure_ , _one hundred percent_ , that we'll get you that new bicycle you want!"


	9. Day 11

**A/N:** This chapter contains shameless, shameless, explicit g!p smut, so if that's not your thing, go ahead and skip this chapter.

 **A/N2:** (To be deleted after this has been posted for a while.) In a series of random happenings, my work on this series (and all other things) was halted for two weeks. I lost internet due to a pecking happy woodpecker on Christmas Eve, which sapped all ability to post anything for the week it took the phone people to get back from holiday, which sapped all energy and motivation to write. Though I got this drabble done a while ago, once I started feeling back up to writing (which went away again for another reason), I waffled about posting it until I could post another chapter with it. However, with most of my other 25 Days of Christmas drabbles just getting longer and longer, I finally decided to stop being hesitant and embarrassed about just posting shameless, shameless smut by itself. So here we are. That's where I'm at - slowly getting the rest of this drabble collection done. :}

* * *

 **Day 11: Character A and Character B broke up, but now they meet at a Christmas party.**

* * *

They're in the backseat of Santana's car, one of Rachel's leg pushed into the back of the seat, her other slung low around Santana's hips. With Santana's arms wrapped around her shoulders and back, mouth hot and painful against her own, their teeth clacking together as they pant and moan, it's all Rachel can do to hold onto the shifting muscles in her ex-girlfriend's back, purposefully widening her legs so Santana can crash, thick and heavy, ever deeper in her. No one has ever filled her as fully and perfectly.

"God you feel good," Santana grunts, pausing on a down stroke, chest heaving against Rachel's as she tries to catch her breath, "Missed that."

Rachel wonders if that was a slipped out truth. Unwilling to dwell on it, and not wanting to chance hearing an immediate takeback, she pushes her mind away by digging her nails harder into Santana's shoulder blades, hunching her hips up tighter around her. "More," she gasps. When Santana's teeth bite into her lower lip, she screws herself even harder into her. " _Harder_."

Santana slams down, knocking their hips together, grinding down and trapping Rachel's clit between them. "You always did like it hard," she hisses, grinning wildly into her next kiss.

" _Mmm_ ," Rachel manages, her eyes rolling back into her head. All she can feel is the pressure of Santana in and on top of her, her hair sliding and bouncing across her cheeks and forehead and neck, sweat and heat gliding between their naked bodies. Half an hour ago they were making eyes at each other across the living room of their old glee teacher's apartment. Now they're… Rachel arches, groaning as Santana stretches her with another grind. Idly, she wonders where the Santa hat Santana had been wearing went. Probably with the rest of their tossed aside clothes.

Their noses brush against each other. Santana exhales, her dark eyes meeting Rachel's as she judders, stopping. "You still… You okay for me to…?"

Rachel's heart jolts, her pussy muscles spasming less than a second later. She licks her lips. "Already?"

Santana smirks, toothy and shining in the light from the streetlight above them. "Don' worry. I'mma take care of you. You're just…" As if to accent her words, she pulls Rachel's chest tighter into her, naked dick sliding, pushing that much further as well. She exhales. "You've always made me excited."

Lifting her chin, Rachel brushes her lips along Santana's cheek, nose briefly touching her eyelashes as Santana flutters her eyes closed. "Go ahead." She honestly can't wait to feel her coming apart inside her again.

Tensing, muscles taut against her body, Santana thrusts and thrusts again, pushing Rachel's leg back to change the angle; burying herself as deep as she can, body and breasts pressed as tight against Rachel as she can be, she shudders. Letting loose, so hot and burning, pulsing, making Rachel gasp, she rocks back and forth, filling Rachel completely.

Her neck arching back, Santana's mouth licking and sucking wherever it can reach, Rachel's hands drift downwards, urging her on. She wonders how she ever lived without the feeling of her inside her, hands reluctant to let the other woman go when she pushes herself up.

Exhaling, Santana nuzzles her clavicle. "You haven't cum yet."

Honestly surprised, even with the heart pounding words Santana had uttered minutes before, Rachel can barely watch, eyes slitted, as Santana lifts herself up and back, sinking to kneel on the floor of her car after her dick, slick as it slides out of her, makes her moan at its loss. "Santana?" she manages, about to lift herself up on her elbows.

The sudden hot, _knowing_ tongue sliding up her vaginal lips, however, stops her. " _Oh_ ," she groans.

Lapping at her labia and clit, strong hands cupping and massaging her hips, Santana practically drinks from her, tongue searching for all that drips from her. Plush lips purse around her clit.

Rachel groans again, twisting, dropping her leg down so she can shift, hand pushing against the backseat bottom so she can sit, legs bowed wide open, head fallen back to rest against the headrest. She grabs at Santana's hair and scalp, palms cupped around the nape of her neck.

As Santana's tongue firms even more, darting in and out, curling and drinking both of them out of her, Rachel's mind idly drifts, without her permission, to the alternating twinkle and glow of the Christmas lights strung outside William and Emma Schuester's apartment. It's the green shining into the car that she focuses on as wet heat sucks expertly at her clit again, hard and unrelenting and a perfect foil to when Santana's tongue fills and tickles deeply inside her.

 _Oh_ , she thinks, breaking and falling apart as another hard suck practically flattens her clit, her own muscles mashing her pussy up into Santana as hard as she can, walls clenching and pulling at her, _Santana had **always** known how to touch her._

Moments later, Santana still lapping, slowly bringing her down, Rachel pushes against the other woman's forehead, panting. "You're," she swallows, eyes dropping down, past Santana's chest and tight midsection, "I want…"

Licking her lips, taking in all the taste of Rachel she can, Santana smirks again, clambering up onto the backseat next to her. "You remember the last time?" she murmurs, legs falling open, hand sliding along Rachel's cheek and past, cupping her ear and side of her head. "While I was driving…?"

Pink glows across Rachel's cheeks, but she ignores it, already twisting around so her knees are propped onto the backseat's cushion in between Santana's legs. Bending down, her hand pressed into Santana's thigh, with an eager lap and groan, she's sucking the hot, heavy head of Santana's dick into her mouth, lips pursed and dropping down. It's wet and familiar, and as the taste of her pre-cum and Rachel herself hits her taste buds, Rachel's heart almost bursts. She'd never thought she'd miss the feel of her inside her mouth, pressing against the back of her throat and slipping in, out, as much as she'd had.

It doesn't take long for Santana to get completely hard again, too much for Rachel to take into her mouth without swallowing past her non-existent gag reflex. Still, as Rachel pulls back, drooling saliva onto her thick length, pulsing and dripping pre-cum, Santana's hands are already cupping around her elbows, pulling her up and onto her, her mouth searching and purposeful against hers as Rachel drops, heavy into her lap.

With barely any urging, Santana is sliding into her again, just as deep and unyielding, big and overwhelming, and Rachel moans, throat tight as she sinks down. It doesn't matter if everyone's waiting for her and Santana in the apartment – she's where she wants to be, filled completely and close after two months of being so, so empty and alone.

Another round of sex, hot and wet and without a condom, Santana's cum splattering inside of her with her own orgasm, Rachel's barely cognizant as Santana leans back, stroking her back and sides and pulling her close as they both come down, curled up on the backseat; helping her dress and out of the car, back into the party as they both pretend to have been there the whole time, Santana kisses back as Rachel manages to snag one more embrace under the mistletoe. Tears are wet down her cheeks when she feels Santana pull away, whispering that it's the best for the both of them, but even if part of Rachel knows it's true, it still hurts, and she leaves the party less than an hour later, somehow managing not to look in Santana's direction as she does.

Making her way back to her hotel room and collapsing onto her bed, legs splayed, staring up at the ceiling as she feels how sore and used and _satisfied_ her pussy feels, she tells herself she understands why it's better that way.

* * *

A month later, Rachel stares at the pregnancy test she'd just taken on the bathroom counter.

Clutching her phone, Santana's number already queued up in just in case, she barely breathes as the last minute ticks by.

Tick…

Tick…

Tick…

 _Positive_.

Rachel drops her head, and cries.


	10. Day 23

**Day 23: Character A owns a struggling toy store. Character B is looking for a Christmas present.**

* * *

"Why aren't people coming in?" Brittany asked again, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger.

"Because Sue isn't the most popular woman in Lima right now," Santana answered boredly, turning the page in her magazine. The latest of the coach's stunts (having to do with the Lima mayor, the Japanese government, and an industrial vat of lubricant) had managed to strike enough of a chord that people weren't forgetting or dismissing as quickly as usual.

Brittany frowned. "That doesn't make sense. _Everyone_ loves toy stores."

"Well, it's 'cuz this store is her idea, and it's her name that hangs above the door." Santana blindly pointed toward the front of the store. "Something about 'remedying her public image by way of sickeningly innocent Christmas cheer'. I don't know. I wasn't paying attention." She snapped her gum. It had been forty minutes since the last customer had come in, and even then it had just been a middle aged man who had loitered near the front, staring at them and heavily breathing until Santana had cussed him out.

The blonde turned her head, peering at Santana before stretching, pushing off of the counter she had been leaning over. "We need customers."

Raising her eyebrows, Santana didn't look up from her magazine; she turned another page. Princess Kate and Prince William were expecting another kid. Huh. "It's your turn to wear the antlers."

Like she knew she would react, Brittany perked up. "Yes!" she grinned, heading over to the bin that held the fake antlers, quickly tying them onto the top of her head, knot snug under her chin. She practically skipped towards the door of the store.

"Don't get lost," Santana called out, smiling when Brittany just as playfully responded, "Not even if Santa Claus himself comes to take me to the South Pole. I'll come back in and make sure we take you too! Pinky swear!" before leaving the store. At least the other girl found fun in the inane practice of hawking one's self in hopes of getting people to come inside. Santana shrugged to herself.

Ten minutes of finishing up with her magazine, mostly unimpressed, and glancing up now and then to make sure Brittany hadn't wandered away after a puppy or small child, Santana sighed, looking over the barren, almost clinically cold space that made up _Sue Sylvester's Santa Stash_. Predominantly empty space with random boxes and racks of whatever she could find in her Cheerios' garages, it really wasn't trying to be anything more than a last resort store, frequented by those desperate or out of time. Hell, it wasn't even that much of a _toy_ store, no matter how Sue was selling it.

As if on cue, the bell above the door jangled, Brittany's tall, slim form leading a smaller, shorter girl in. "Right," the Cheerio nodded, a giant smile on her face, "I'm pretty sure we have something you'll want over here. I'll show you to the things that came from Santana's garage."

"Oh hell no," Santana snapped, standing up. "B! We don't allow the elves to come into the store! They stay in the back!"

Rachel, bundled up and in the process of tugging her gloves off of her hands, turned her head, stoically meeting Santana's gaze. "While I normally wouldn't bother to acknowledge your admittedly weak protests at my presence, Santana, I'm afraid I don't have the time to adequately express my disdain via ignoring you. I need to find something I can pretend I'd picked out weeks ago."

Shuttering her eyes, Santana slipped around the counter, eating up the space between them. "Second cousin you barely talk to or well-meaning but annoying and judgmental as hell aunt or uncle?"

Looking startled, Rachel blinked at her.

"Well?"

"The… The second. Aunt."

Ignoring the triumphant grin Brittany was sending to her, Santana brushed by the two girls, heading directly towards where she knew her crap had been deposited. "Related to Black Berry or Berry White?" she asked over her shoulder.

"That matters?"

"Berry. The quicker you answer the quicker I get you out of here."

Rachel huffed. She crossed her arms in the periphery of Santana's vision. "…" she muttered.

" _What_?"

"She said 'high ram'," Brittany supplied, cocking her head soon after. "A smoking goat?"

Santana smiled at her, softly stroking her hand down her arm before sidling around the box, reaching toward the bottom to start sifting through the jumble. "'T's her dad's name," she explained. "Hiram. Obnoxiously Jewish."

Rachel's small body suddenly popped up near Santana's left shoulder. "I'm surprised you know that," she gazed suspiciously at her.

"Jesus!" Santana jumped, glaring at her. "Warn a girl!" When Rachel only rolled her eyes, unapologetic in the least, Santana reached past her first choice to wrap her hand around the runner-up. She pulled it out. "Here. Perfect for homophobic aunts who hide behind familial concern and 'old fashioned values'."

Rachel's gaze dropped from Santana's face to the object she held. "A…"

"Decorative glazed urn?" Brittany offered excitedly.

Santana nodded.

"…Why?"

"Because it fulfills the need for your aunt to feel like she's getting _something_ , by way of attractive pottery, out of visiting you and your immediate family. Add in two gay men, and it's like she's won the homosexual relative lottery. This's _primo_ gay absolution."

Rachel narrowed her eyes at her. "How do you know so much about this?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Really?" She moved the urn back, farther away from the small girl. "You going to make me want to drop this onto the floor and break it instead of having you fork over your hard earned money for it?"

Exhaling loudly, Rachel crossed her arms. Seconds passed, Santana's eyebrows staying quirked up, Brittany practically vibrating next to them, and Rachel abruptly groaned, tossing her hair. " _Fine_ ," she breathed, yanking the urn from Santana's hands and cradling it in her hands, "How much?"

"Twenty dollars," Santana answered, looking down at her nails.

"Twenty – _no_."

"Yeah," Brittany nodded again, her head bobbing, "Coach's policy."

Her mouth opening, a cross look suddenly slashed across Rachel's face. "Fine," she shook her head, jostling the urn so she could fish into her pocket. Pulling out a twenty, she made to hand it to first Santana, then Brittany, finally growling in the back of her throat when each danced back, away from her and towards the cashier. Stomping up, Rachel slapped it down in front of Santana's hands. " _Here_."

"Thanks." Santana smirked. Taking up the bill, she pushed a random button on the cash machine. "You're not getting a receipt, so don't even ask for one."

"I wasn't – !" Rachel abruptly stopped. She paused, gaze moving from Santana's smug grin to Brittany's idle wandering into the back room, mumbling something about searching for ' _real_ Elves' under her breath; as soon as the blonde was completely covered from sight, she rested the urn onto the counter, leaning her elbows onto the counter next to it seconds later. "Are you scheduled to work here all day?"

Santana lay the twenty into the till, closing it quickly. "Why?" she asked suspiciously. "Gonna burn this place down with us in it?"

Rachel looked startled. "What? No."

"You sure?" Santana quirked an eyebrow.

" _Yes_."

"…Hmm. Let's say I believe you. Why should I tell you?"

Exhaling, her mind working behind her eyes, it was almost like Rachel was bucking herself up for something. Finally, straightening and licking her lips, she met Santana's gaze. "I was just wondering if you – and Brittany – would agree to go caroling with me tonight. The normal group I sing with has come down with colds, and as I _refuse_ to endanger my vocal chords, I've barred them from showing up. As you and Brittany seem healthy and… In some sort of good spirits, I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask."

Santana surveyed her. "You're desperate, aren't you."

"To ask you?" A slight smile touched Rachel's lips. "Yes."

"Well, at least you'll admit that, but I honestly have _no_ idea how you think we'd even _entertain_ – "

Brittany, speaking from behind Santana's ear, didn't react when Santana turned to glare at her, "Will there be hot chocolate?"

" _B_. _No_."

Rachel moved her attention to the blonde. "You'd have all the hot chocolate you'd want."

Sighing sufferingly, Santana crossed her arms. With a positive confirmation of hot chocolate with Brittany involved, there was no use outright refusing anymore - even if she tried, it would be a losing battle. It wasn't even worth the effort. "Vegan crap?"

"Could I bring the antlers?" Brittany pointed at the headwear she was still wearing.

Rachel nodded. "If it fits over a hat, as I guarantee you're going to want to have all the warm clothes you can stand. And," she turned on her heel, Santana's attitude not managing to stop the pleased, softly excited smile slowly taking over her face, "I'll provide a variety of vegan and non-vegan hot chocolate options, as well as light snacks, in case you decide to see the light and embrace the cruelty-free path."

"Nice. Great. Whatever," Santana muttered, "Just give us the damn time – _after_ five – and where to meet and get gone. You're tainting this store with your _loser_."

Rolling her eyes, "I'll text you the details. Good afternoon, girls," Rachel tossed a wave behind her as she turned, the urn securely tucked under her arm.

Brittany waved back until the door closed behind her.

Waiting until Rachel walked out of range of the windows, Santana crossed her arms. "Great. Now my _phone's_ going to be infected by her suck."

"Why do you think she's going to text you?"

Frowning, Santana turned, meeting her friend's wide, curious gaze. "What?"

Brittany shrugged. "We both have phones. Why would she text you?"

"Probably because she'll assume you won't have your phone on you? I don't know. What's it matter?" Shaking her head, Santana sighed, then reached out, plucking the antlers off the blonde's head. "I'm going out. The DS's in my backpack."

Brittany brightened. "Is Animal Crossing – "

"Animal Crossing's in it," Santana nodded, smiling affectionately. She tied the antlers on, pulling out a mirror to make sure it was on straight. Satisfied, she grabbed up her scarf and gloves. At least she didn't have to wear anything else embarrassing.

Her phone beeped as she put her hand on the door handle. Pulling it out, she groaned and rolled her eyes. How hard was it to just write a time and place and _not_ as a freakin' essay? Shooting off a quick sarcastic and cutting response, she shoved her phone back into her pocket, braced against the cold, and stepped out into the street.

Feeling the cold rush into her face, she coughed. And that was only going to get worse. Wonderful. "That hot chocolate better be the best _freakin'_ hot chocolate in the _world_ to make up for this and the following hours of absolute _torture_ ," she groused, hunkering down and preparing to be the best kind of fake welcoming holiday cheer she could be. " _Jesus_."


	11. Day 24

**Day 24: Character A doesn't feel the Christmas spirit but Character B, who lives above them, keeps playing Christmas carols really loud.**

* * *

Santana was going insane. Not only stuck at the Berry house for half of the holidays, currently bunking down on the living room couch until the Berrys could move the substantial amount of junk out of the guestroom, Rachel Berry, one of the banes of Santana's existence, was _insisting_ on playing Christmas Carols at the loudest decibel her state of the art stereo could produce.

Putting her pillow over her face, Santana screamed into it. "I'm trying to sleep!" she yelled pointlessly as soon as the pillow slipped down.

In a break between one CD and another, a low chuckle caught her attention. "Don't bother," Hiram Berry smiled at her from the living room doorway, a mug of something in his hand floating near his mouth. "She's preparing for a recital. Nothing will get her to stop."

Santana glared at him. "I thought her room was soundproofed."

This time Hiram snorted, his hand automatically coming up to over his nose and mouth. He made a face at Santana for her immediate snigger, "It used to be. We're just behind in scheduling a repair after the latest failure."

"Great. Doesn't surprise me she blew the dampeners with that annoying voice of hers." Huffing, Santana sat up, shoving her hair behind her shoulder and fiddling with the blanket now pooling at her waist, making an unapologetic face at Rachel's dad when he looked vaguely chastising at her words. She glared up at the ceiling when new music swelled. "That sounds even louder than before!"

Wincing, obviously only catching a couple of words Santana said, Hiram took pity on her. "Here," he mouthed, fishing in his pajama pocket for a small packet, which he padded forward to hand to her. When she looked down at it, eyebrows raising, he pointed to his ears. "Ear plugs."

"Oh." Clicking her tongue, Santana winked, giving him a thumbs up. "Thanks."

Hiram saluted with his mug. "I'll let you get some more sleep," he said, nodding at her lame 'thanks' before turning on his heel and slipping from the room.

Watching him go, Santana groaned when the opening strains of Winter Wonderland thundered through the house. "It's six fucking am in the morning," she complained uselessly, ripping open the packet and quickly getting the ear plugs into her ears. Once the music was a dull roar, enough so that, coupled with her pillow pulled over the back of her head it would allow her to get _at least_ four more hours of sleep, Santana burrowed back under her blanket. She couldn't wait for her parents to come back from their business trip.

* * *

"It has been pointed out to me that perhaps my preparation for my show has been… Excessive," Rachel said stiffly, accepting the wet mug Santana handed her. "And hasn't been entirely welcoming to those unaccustomed to my ways. Or conducive for being a good host."

"You're not my host. Your dads are." Santana clicked her tongue. "And something tells me it's better that way. You'd probably kill me with tofu." She dunked a suds covered plate into the hot water in front of her, lazily sweeping it back and forth. Once deemed suds-free, she pulled it out, practically slapping it into Rachel's hand; she smirked when the girl gave her a dark look, flicking a bead of water off of her arm.

"You know what I mean." Rubbing her dishtowel over the plate, Rachel stacked it onto the ones waiting to be put away.

Santana shrugged her shoulders innocently. "Do I?"

Sighing, Rachel deflected Santana's next plate. "Santana. I am trying to apologize."

Looking at her, Santana raised her eyebrows. "Are you still going to play Christmas carols at all times of the day?"

Rachel's lips slightly tightened. "Yes. Until my recital, and then likely off and on as Christmas approaches."

"Are you going to turn down the volume?"

Like it pained her, Rachel swallowed before answering, "Yes."

Santana hummed. She raised her finger, leaning towards Rachel. "Your or _my_ definition of lower volume?"

Opening her mouth, Rachel huffed through her nose, looking away. "What is your definition?" she grit out.

Santana smirked. "Can't be heard out of your room."

"But – no! Without the soundproofing, I'd barely…" Rachel stared at her in alarm. "I can't immerse myself in the music if I can't hear it sufficiently!"

"Too bad. _I'm_ the guest."

"And _I'm_ the one who may have agents coming to watch my performance, which could potentially set the stage for how my career in showbiz is going to start!"

Santana clinked a wineglass on the counter. "You're also the one who might just wake up to your door superglued if you cut short _another_ morning of sleep for me."

"Honestly! Sleeping in until noon is _not_ a healthy practice."

"Ever heard of beauty sleep?" Santana tilted her head, studying Rachel. "Oh, no, never mind. Obviously not."

A sound of disgruntlement left Rachel's throat, and her shoulders momentarily dropped before immediately firming. "I'll do my best to better monitor my listening habits," she said stiffly, erecting a palpable wall of air between them.

Santana studied the side of her face. Coming to the end of the soaped dishes, swirling it through the water, she paused before handing it to Rachel. When Rachel reached to take it, however, she held onto it. "Look. I'm only here for another week. Your voice's not going to suffer and die from nonuse in that time, no matter how much we all might want it to. When is your recital?"

Still holding onto the plate, Rachel looked up at her. "Christmas Eve."

"See?" Santana shrugged, finally letting go, briefly shaking her hand to dry it before propping it onto her hip, turning her body to better face Rachel, "You'll still have another week after I'm gone to practice. You can get all your la la las and insane show preparations out then."

Rachel's lips tightened. "It doesn't work that way."

"Sure it does! I don't kill you, and you live to sing another day." Santana smirked. "'Sides, how can you even _hear_ yourself with the pounding music? Doesn't that hurt your ears? It has to hurt your ears."

"I'm surprised you're interested in the wellbeing of my ears," Rachel sniffed. Turning back to the last dish, she quickly wiped it dry, setting it down onto the pile of likewise dishes before picking up the whole pile. "Here," she pushed them at Santana, "I'm assuming your hands are clean. These go in the top cabinet."

* * *

For a couple of days, Rachel turned down her stereo. However, by the third day, Santana was increasingly aware that with each new CD, the volume was ticking up one or two notches. When she couldn't ignore it any longer, she growled and slammed down her magazine, loping up the stairs and pounding on the door emblazoned with a gold star with the bottom of her fist. "Berry, _god dammit_ , you turn that fucking stereo down afores I come in there and break it off your face!"

The music cut off just as the door clicked open, only one of Rachel's eyes and nose and mouth seeable through the opened crack. She didn't even have the decency to look guilty. "Yes, Santana?" she asked.

Santana glared at her, pushing on the door with her palm; she was slightly gratified to see the shadow of effort on Rachel's face as she fought to keep the door still as Santana leaned more and more of her weight on it. "We had a deal," she clipped.

"Well, I'm sorry, Santana, but I decided that the deal wasn't suitable anymore."

Inhaling sharply through her nose, Santana narrowed her eyes even more. "Are you – you're fuckin' serious? It's like you're _purposefully_ trying to piss me off." Barely waiting for the other girl's response, she tensed her muscles to push forward, using her shoulder as a battering ram to throw Rachel away and backwards. Immediately straightening as soon as she crossed the threshold, she zeroed in on the stereo taking up most of the space on top of Rachel's chest of drawers. Before she could finish stomping over to it, however, Rachel's hands wrapped around her arm, the girl attempting to yank her to a stop.

"Santana, _stop_! This is my _future_ at stake!"

Rounding on Rachel, shoving her away from her, Santana was just about to snarl something harsh and pointed when her gaze zeroed in on something. " _Seriously_?" she ripped Rachel's rebound lunge at her off of her again, snatching a professional grade pair of headphones up from where they were resting on the desk next to the stereo, "You have _these_ and yet you're _still_ ripping apart my damn eardrums?"

Rachel opened her mouth, closed it, then tried to say something before huffing and clicking her jaw shut. A very bright, very red flush bloomed on her cheeks.

Santana stared at her. " _Berry_?" she hissed leadingly, her expression and voice dark.

"I…" Rachel's voice died. Her gaze skittered from Santana's the second she tried to meet Santana's eyes again.

Shaking her head and dropping her hand so the headphones vibrated violently against her thigh, Santana couldn't help but tighten the headband between her fingers; she enjoyed the wince Rachel gave when it creaked in her grip. "You're telling me you could have been quiet and _boring_ up here the _whole time_?" she snapped.

"I – it's the ambient noise! I need to completely _immerse_ myself in the music, and headphones don't – they don't give me that feeling of being _inside_ the music, it bouncing off the walls to wrap around me and carry me to the appropriate level of absorption – – can you _please_ put those down before you break them?" she practically shrieked as Santana crossed her arms, starting to bounce the headphones up and down against her flexed bicep.

"No." Santana shook her head. "And you know why? Because you _deserve_ to have them fucking broken! If they're not getting used, then why have them at all? Yes," She grinned ferally, "That seems logical, doesn't it?" Bringing the headphones to in front of her chest, she wrapped her other hand around the headband next to the other.

" _Santana_!" That time it was a full shriek. Her hands flying up to her face, frustrated, panicked tears starting to gather in her eyes, Rachel's mouth open and closed. "Please – _please_ – those were over two hundred – " When Santana tensed her arms, making like she was about to start twisting the headband in two different directions, her voice rose even more, shrill and high, "My fathers got them for me! They – _please_!"

Santana glared at her. "Do you promise to keeps your _damn_ music all to yourself?"

"Yes! Yes! I promise! …Though I don't understand why if it truly bothers you you can't just leave the house and hang with Brittany or Quinn or – "

Growling, Santana raised the headphones again, flexing her arms again, the headband creaking once again in her grip.

"Okay! Okay!" Looking chastened – even if it was predicated by panic and absolute terror – Rachel practically danced on her feet, wavering closer to and away from Santana. "Just, please," she put her hand out and up, almost trembling in the air, "Can I have them back now?"

The girl was honest to god starting to leak tears. Looking down at the headphones, which, yeah, now she could see were personalized with golden stars and a bedazzled cursive blazon of her name in purple, Santana really couldn't muster up the appropriate amount of spite needed to _actually_ rip them apart. Groaning thickly in her throat, she rolled her eyes and slapped them into Rachel's chest as she stalked towards her, pushing harder so Rachel moved out of the way, her hands coming up to catch the headphones, and paused at the door. "This doesn't mean they're forever safe," she warned, looking at Rachel over her shoulder. "I am _holding_ you to using them. If you don't… Super gluing your door will be the _least_ of your worries. And you _know_ I don't _do_ idle threats."

Clutching her headphones, her lower lip trembling as she looked like she was close to hyperventilating in relief, Rachel managed a short, quick nod, and whirled away, putting her back to Santana.

Rolling her eyes, Santana wasn't surprised in the least when the bedroom door slammed shut almost as soon as she'd crossed the threshold. She sighed, stretching her arms up and twisting, trying to loosen her back muscles. God damn Berry. Turning Santana's righteous fury into what could have been an uncomfortable moment.

Ten minutes later, back on the couch with her magazine and a newly poured glass of iced tea, Santana was satisfied to hear no more music coming down the stairs. Maybe she'd be able to make it through the week after all.

Thank god.


	12. Day 17

**Day 17: Character A has to dress up as Santa for Christmas.**

* * *

"You're enjoying this too much."

"Any reason I shouldn't?" Admiring herself in the body-length mirror, turning back and forth to study her reflection, Santana primped and preened. "I make a _smokin'_ Santana Claus."

Rachel snorted. Already clad in her elf outfit, green and striped socks and pointy ears, she tugged playfully on a curled lock of Santana's hair. Ducking away from the resulting lazy smack, she raised her eyebrow. "You ever think you'd have to take over the role of Saint Nick?"

Santana pulled down on the hem of her red dress, situating it so it stopped in the middle of her thighs. "That or Mrs. Claus. I ain't particular." Grinning at the expression Rachel made at that, she picked up her Santa hat, affixing it jauntily on her head. "Aw yeah," she smirked, fluffing out her bangs and resting her hands on her hips, "I make a hot Mama Christmas."

Rolling her eyes, Rachel centered her own festive hat on her head, glancing at her watch soon after. "Well, is _Miss Mama Christmas_ ready for the crowds of screaming, diapered children waiting for her, then?"

"Way to make this job sexy." Santana made a face. Striding over to the particular counter and wall mirror she'd been using since they'd been hired on, she reached for her vanilla body spray, giving herself a liberal spritz. "Here," she turned her head, saying over her shoulder at the young man just striding into the space, "Keep this on your person. Or hide it in the tree near my throne. I don't care. Just so's long as it's ready for whenever I need a top off."

Tugging the spray bottle away as he pulled his own elf hat low on his head, Kurt grinned toothily at her. "Gotta say, Satan," he smirked, free knuckles on his hip and bells on his shoes jangling, "Not bad. Not bad."

Santana gave him just as toothy a smile back. "They ready for me out there yet?"

Rachel tugged the heavy curtain away from its moorings, peering out toward the throne and waiting throng of children and kids. "Definitely ready," she reported, taking a step back, the curtain closing behind her.

"Awesome." Tossing her hair back and once again adjusting her hat and dress, Santana clacked towards the entrance to Santa's Grotto. "Time to wow the masses!"

* * *

Three hours later, covered in the spittle of seven children, the sweat of five more, and the tears of a countless bunch, Santana raised her hands, stating in no uncertain terms, that she, _Santana Claus_ , was going to take a break. "I don't care if it's not the 'scheduled' time," she made bunny ears, slumping into the chair backstage and tugging her Santa hat off to run her hand through her hair before starting to flick off all the identifiable (and non-identifiable) stains and crud on her dress, "It's still _my_ break time. _Overdue_ break time."

Chuckling and reaching into the fridge to grab his friend a water bottle, Kurt handed it to her. "Here," he smiled, "To whet your throat for more inappropriate comments."

Santana twisted the bottle open, taking a deep draught. "Thanks," she exhaled, giving him a smile. "At least someone appreciates me. God, how many li'l terrors you think there're left?"

"I'd say at least fifty," Rachel supplied, stepping into the back as well, the thick curtain swishing closed behind her. She raised her eyebrows, giving Santana a pointed look. "At least until lunch. Do you think you're going to be ready for them?"

"My paycheck says I have to be. Joy."

Smiling at Santana's grumbling, Rachel perched on the arm of her chair. "You know, you're _slightly_ better at this than I expected. Attitude notwithstanding."

Making an affronted expression, Santana poked her thigh. "I don't know who didn't tell you this at orientation, but elves don't talk back to the boss!"

"I think you have the wrong union," Kurt remarked dryly. He went back to smoothing down his bangs in his mirror, making glitter snow trickle down from where a whole box had dropped onto him by an uncaring background elf two hours ago.

Giving him an unamused look, Santana rolled her eyes and sighed, sitting back. "No respect for the Christmas honchos anymore…"

Rachel patted her shoulder, her hand lingering for a few seconds before she hopped down, brushing her skirt off. Smiling at Santana, she tucked a stray bang behind her ear, momentarily taking off her hat to make sure it would pat down smoothly, "I'm pretty sure respect begets respect." She opened the small refrigerator to grab herself her own water bottle.

Santana couldn't help the reactionary face she made, lacing her hands together on her lap. "Lame, lame, incredibly lame. You're just making all of this lame."

Scoffing, Rachel took a sip of her water, shaking her head as she swallowed, "I highly doubt that _I_ am the cause of the potential 'lameness' you might be feeling." She rested her hand on her hip as she studied Santana. Her teeth lightly bit into her lower lip.

Quirking her eyebrows, Santana met the other girl's gaze. "Okay. If it's not you, then what is?"

Rachel shrugged. She turned the corners of her lips up. "You wouldn't think the multitudes of practically squalling children over the past few hours would be sufficient enough?"

"I don't know… You do tend to have a desperate 'all or nothing' air to you."

"Really? I didn't think you paid enough attention to form any kind of real opinion on what I do or _not_ do…"

Before Santana could respond, however, already sitting forward in her chair to grace Rachel with a wide, sparkling smile, Kurt groaned, "Is no space sacred?" turning from his mirror to their general direction. " _Okay_! Stopping you before you start." He lifted his palms, "Can you _please_ leave the flirting for when I'm not here?" Pausing, waiting to take in both girls' reactions, he settled back on his heels, relaxing minutely when neither immediately snarked back at him, "Thank you. We only have five more hours." He sighed. "I love you both but. Please. For the sake of my sanity and the kids and parents waiting on you, can you work through all of…" He made swirling motions with his hands, encompassing both Rachel and Santana, " _This_ …"

" _Lady Gay._ " "Kurt!"

"… _Later_? I already experience too much at home!"


	13. Day 14

**Day 14: Character A can't travel to see their family on Christmas, so they invite their grumpy loner neighbor Character B.**

* * *

"What?"

"What I said," Santana rolled her eyes, her arms crossed and head tilted, eyebrows raising when she met Rachel's gaze, "I'm inviting you over."

"To your house."

"To my house."

"For Christmas."

"For Christmas Chinese food and Christmas crappy movies, topped off by, if you're good, Christmas 100 proof vodka."

Rachel's lips thinned. She looked dramatically distrustful. "Why?"

"Why ask why when you can agree and spend the holiday drunk and full? Not to mention being privy to _my_ hot ass for more hours than you _ever_ thought possible?"

"That's not an answer," Rachel sighed, shaking her head. "Santana. You barely tolerate me at school, not to mention have said _numerous_ times how insufferable I am the few times you've been around me drunk. How on _Earth_ would you tolerate me at your house?"

"Maybe because you're going to keep your obnoxiousness locked away as you soak in the laidback atmosphere of being family-free and holiday-content, no one around you can latch onto and embarrass yourself with for most of the night – 'cuz, _no_ , I am _not_ available?" Uncrossing her arms, Santana sighed sharply, raising her palms in an expressive, judgmental shrug. "Berry. C'mon. You're Jewish. You should be, like, _jumping_ at this. You don't even have to pay for the alcohol! Puck's already gone on a run for me."

"That's not really a draw for me," Rachel replied, only to be cut off by a sharp huff, Santana butting in to say, "It _should_ be! You need to let _loose_!"

" _Santana_ – " Stopping herself, apparently trying to deeply breathe in to reacquire some amount of control, Rachel forcibly exhaled, dropping her shoulders. "All you have offered me are things I can already take advantage of here, at my _own_ home."

Santana shuttered her eyes, gazing at Rachel skeptically. "Your dads allow you to drink."

"Wine, yes."

"And you can get drunk off wine."

Pursing her lips, Rachel nodded. "If I have enough."

"And you can _really_ do so comfortably with the Papa Berrys watching?" Santana shook her head, scoffing. "Berry. Rachel. True talk time."

"Oh god," Rachel muttered.

" _What_ is stopping you?"

"Aside from the fact we really can't stand each other?"

Rolling her eyes again, Santana nodded, exaggeratingly throwing her hands up again as well.

"I don't know…" Rachel started sarcastically, it her turn to cross her arms, "Maybe because you waited to ask _the day of_ , not taking in account I may already _have plans_?"

"Oh for _god's sakes_ – "

" _And_ that I _really_ don't see the draw in getting drunk?"

Santana hmmed, her brow dropping. "So you're suddenly straight edge."

" _T_ _hat's_ what you get out what I said. I just. I don't _need_ to get drunk. Unlike you, apparently," Rachel huffed, staring at her.

"It's not high on your list of things."

"Right." Rachel nodded. "May I just say that's _really_ impressive of you to recognize?"

Santana shook her head, waiting until enough time had passed to make her next comments full of impact. "Okay, look," she raised her hands, putting them in front of her face almost as if she was praying, " _Forget_ the drinking. You're still going to come over to watch the terrible flicks and eat Lima's best offered delivery."

Except, " _Why_?" Rachel insisted.

"Because you _are_ ," Santana snapped.

"Not good enough."

" _Yes it_ – _Berry_. Berry _fuckin'_ Rachel. You are _comin'_ over to my place and _having_ a _good_ Christmas time!"

" _Why_?"

" _Because_ – "

"Because you're _telling_ me I am?"

" _Yes_!"

Silence echoed for a couple of seconds, Santana leaning forward on her toes and Rachel rigid, staring at her.

Finally, "This isn't about me at all, is it," Rachel stated.

Santana's brow furrowed. Her jaw ground together. "'Scuze me?"

"Wow, it really isn't." Starting on a roll, Rachel raised her hand, waving it at Santana. "The only reason you're here is because you're lonely."

" _What_?"

But Rachel continued unhindered, pressing on. "Somehow, for some reason, your family isn't here, and you don't want to spend the holidays alone. Since I am aware that Quinn and Brittany are away, and I can easily see why you would not be interested in spending the day with Puck because, if I'm not mistaken, he would probably expect some sort of sexual favor in exchange for dragging him away from his annual Jewish Anti-Christmas party – especially with you having recently accepted your sexuality and not being interested in much of what he could offer – I'm your best bet as, lately, we have relaxed our antagonistic rapport. Subsequently, currently neither Mercedes nor Tina nor Sugar would probably give you the time of day, due to some of your most recent behind-the-scenes machinations."

As Rachel's words trailed off, Santana stared at her, lips pursed and arms crossed. She opened her mouth, closed it, then tilted her head critically. When she finally spoke, her voice was rough and tight. "Fucking whatever. Believe what you want – even if you're _wrong_. You have five seconds to decide. Are you _going_ or _not_ going to Puck's, as you said, annual Jewish Anti-Christmas party? And then, if _not_ , going to either _my house_ with food and movies and alcohol – or _staying home_ and doing _whatever else_ your tiny mind can come up with to pass the – _obviously_ _boring_ and _unsatisfying_ – time instead?"

Searching her face, eyes narrowed, and taking a significant amount of time, Rachel abruptly sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. Damning her heart, telling her it understood Santana's loneliness, she exhaled, meeting Santana's gaze again, "Fine. As you said, ' _whatever'_. Against my better judgment, _if_ you come in for a minimum of an hour, spending the time singing Christmas carols with my father and putting up with my _other_ father's love of Christmas roast, I will accompany you to your house and stay for as long as I feel comfortable."

Santana raised her eyebrows. "Carols? And roast? Meat?"

"Yes. Would that interfere with your wish for Chinese food?"

"'Course not!" Chuffing in her throat, Santana shook her head; stepping forward and making Rachel step back into her house, she moved inside as well, giving Rachel a toothy smile. "Great. Awesome. Fine. Lead the way. Everything waiting at my house can keep."

Shutting the door behind Santana and already working to ignore most of the other girl's sharp words as she led the way inside her home, Rachel wondered if she'd be able to make it through the night at Santana's house. Sure, she only lived down the block, but something told her Santana was _bound_ and _determined_ to keep her around long enough to, at least, get _something_ out of her. And if that was just keeping Rachel around to combat loneliness, Rachel decided, girding herself, at least she'd keep her self-worth and identity. And _that_ , well, that was worth more than Santana was probably expecting… Probably.


	14. Day 12

**Day 12: Character A is stuck working in a coffee shop on Christmas Day and Character B is the lonely soul spending their whole day there.**

* * *

Sighing, Rachel used the end of her pen to scratch in front of her ear. The latest coffee rush had trickled out five minutes before, and with five hours still left in her shift, she was doing her best to occupy herself with the daily crossword puzzle. Not for the first time she cursed management's strict rules about not having a phone or computer behind the counter; at least she'd managed to convince her boss that _her_ Christmas CDs were worth bringing in, meaning her ears weren't getting inundated with uninspired covers.

As the CD changer shuffled to the next album, the woman sitting at the table closest to the fireplace sighed, pushing herself back from her computer. Running her hand through her hair and slipping black-rimmed reading glasses off her nose to rub her eyes with the bottom of her palm, she reached for the mug of coffee Rachel had already refilled twice. About to take a sip, she smirked as she looked inside it, shaking her head and standing up.

Realizing she was about to get caught watching, Rachel snapped her gaze back down at the crossword puzzle.

Clack, clack, bmp.

"More of the same?" Rachel asked, looking up as the mug made contact with the counter, pushing her hair behind her ear as she lay down the pen.

The woman, an attractive Latina Rachel had seen around the café a couple of times before, around her age and dressed in stylish cold weather clothes, offered a small, dimpled cheek smile. "It's the only thing keeping me awake."

"Oh?" Picking up the mug and sliding it into the coffee maker, Rachel turned back, unable to stop herself from teasing, "You sure your blood isn't made of coffee by now?"

"Would that make me still human?" the woman asked, leaning with her hip against the counter.

Rachel shrugged. "Med students seem pretty human to me."

"Don't you mean _all_ students?"

Nodding in the direction of the woman's table, Rachel smiled at her. "That what you're doing? Studying?"

The woman made a face. "That would be preferable to what I'm doing, honestly." She sighed, shaking her head, tapping her fingernails on the counter.

Glancing at her out of the corner of her eye as she swirled caramel on top of the (non-vegan, Rachel couldn't help noting) whipped cream, Rachel slid the finished mug of coffee at her; she rested her elbows on the counter, leaning in interestedly, "Mind if I ask?" When dark brown eyes met hers, she gave her warmest smile, "If you haven't noticed, it's pretty slow in here today. I can clean already clean tables only so many times before even that loses entertainment value."

"Mmm. I bet." The woman sipped her coffee, making a pleased sound in the back of her throat. "Fine. Rachel," reading the nametag on Rachel's chest, she wrapped both hands around the mug, eyelashes fluttering as she gazed off into space for a couple of moments, "My ex is getting married. I was asked to take care of all the arrangements."

"On _Christmas Day_?" Rachel asked incredulously, "How much can you even get done today?"

The woman smirked. "Hence it taking almost two hours to find a caterer willing to answer their phone."

"Wait, he's getting married today? How're you going to get everything set?"

"Ah, no. I have a little bit more time than that. She's getting married on New Year's. I figured spending Christmas planning it would only make punishing myself even easier and more meaningful."

Praying her expression wasn't insulting or blinding in its surprise, Rachel found herself asking instead, "Bad break-up?"

The woman laughed. "You could say that. We were on-and-off again through high school, drifted apart for a couple of years, and then got married spur of the moment before our 21st birthdays." Her expression pinched, and she sighed, rubbing the back of her neck before shrugging, almost emotionless. "We divorced right before our two year anniversary." She waited a beat. "Almost a year ago."

"I was going to say you didn't look older than 25."

"As if!" The woman used the hand holding her coffee to point at Rachel, smirking. "23."

Rachel smiled. "22." Almost belatedly, she pointed at herself.

The woman winked. "Got it."

…Right. Feeling a small embarrassed blush rise on her cheeks, Rachel nodded. "Right, right. Uhm…" she tucked her hands into her apron, resettling herself on her feet, "This is a little awkward, but, seeing as you were the only one in here when you came in, I didn't ask for your name…?"

A wide, beautiful smile turned the woman's lips up. "I'm Santana."

"Santana." Nibbling on her lower lip, Rachel was casting around for something else to say when the jingle of the bell above the door and sudden frigid gust of wind moved her attention to a man, incredibly bundled up, waddling in, snow practically cracking off of him. "Oh, I…" she turned back to Santana, smiling apologetically.

"'S cool." Santana shrugged, briefly setting down her coffee to fish for the wallet she'd been keeping in the pocket of her thinner inner pullover, pulling out another ten, "Here."

Though Rachel's first impulse was to refuse, wanting to offer to cover it herself, she really couldn't; not only because her bank account needed her full paycheck, but because it was against employee regulations. So, smiling sheepishly, she accepted the bill and quickly handed back the change, giving Santana a quick, fluttery wave as she turned, heading back to her table.

* * *

An hour and six customers later, Rachel groaned, using the counter to stretch her back and shoulders. She was about to make another circuit around the café, wet rag waiting for her, when Santana's voice caught her attention.

"Yes, hello, I'm calling about your ad online? Tell me you're going to be available New Year's Day. …A rate increase? C'mon. You're already getting another day of work that you weren't before. No, I don't think that's an unreasonable expectation. No, honestly, I don't care if January 1st is a day _some_ people like to have off so they can nurse hangovers. Ever think that maybe anticipating that makes you an alcoholic? Oh _come on_. That's not personal. You're the one who brought it up! Don't say something if you're unprepared for it to be addressed. That's, like, common knowledge. … No. You're lucky I called you at all. _Fine_ , how much? Fine. I'll e-mail you with the particulars. Yes. I - Santana Lopez. _Lopez_. Yes. _Fine_. _Great_. Later."

Dropping her phone, Santana shook her head, her fingers on the bridge of her nose. She looked up, eyes finding Rachel's. "Highway robbery. Fucking thieves."

Silently, Rachel pointed at Santana's mug. When Santana shook her head, making a comment about it probably being a good thing to slow down on the caffeine, she dipped her head in acknowledgment, resting her elbows on the counter. "Not to completely play Devil's Advocate, but I don't think it's that much of an irregular thing to anticipate being hungover on New Year's Day. Of course, depending on what you have planned."

One corner of Santana's lips quirked up, and she fully turned in her seat to face Rachel. "Oh god yeah. I'm going to be _terribly_ hungover. New Year's Eve is bad enough as it is, but it's _also_ going to be the bachelorette party. Knowing Brittany, we're not going to be done until we've visited _all_ of the strip clubs she knows about, plus others we just," she made bunny ears, " _Happen_ to stumble upon. Granted I'll only fully appreciate half of them, but that's what I get for agreeing to be her Maid of Honor."

"Brittany? She your…?"

"Mmhm." Santana nodded.

Biting her lip, not sure it was her place, Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it, sure the expression on her face conveyed her inner struggle.

"Go ahead and ask. It looks like it's physically hurting you, and I won't be responsible for you keeling over from an aneurysm."

"I just – " Bursting out, Rachel scaled herself back, straightening as she tugged on her apron, "You were _married_ to her. How… How can you _do_ that to yourself? If it were me…" She didn't even want to think about it. "I'm just surprised you're taking this so well, is all," she shrugged, ending mildly.

Her chin resting on her hand, Santana studied her before humming, shoulders rising in a slight shrug. "It's not the easiest."

Waiting a bit to see if the woman was going to elucidate, Rachel picked up her rag. "I'm sorry if I pried," she said quietly when she didn't, pushing her hair from her face before heading to the first table to Santana's left and back.

"You didn't."

"You don't have to say any more." Rachel made another sweep across the tabletop, glancing up.

Santana swept her hands out. "Who else am I going to tell? Brittany's a sweetheart; it's the least I can do, doing this for her with a smile on my face. She knows, subconsciously, probably, how hard this is for me, but it's also the truth that I know her and what she wants the best."

Rachel paused, lightly leaning on her palm on the table. It was one of her faults, being so tirelessly curious and nosy. "Do you… Miss her?" The laugh that left Santana's mouth surprised her, and she straightened, gripping the rag between her hands. "I'm sorry?" She hadn't expected that. She… Actually, she didn't know _what_ she had been expecting.

Shaking her head, Santana picked up her glasses, swinging them between her thumb and pointer finger. "We were good, but we weren't good for each other… In the long run."

There was an air of finality after that, and Rachel nodded, offering Santana a small, sincere smile. Giving an even smaller smile in response, Santana swiveled back around, sliding her glasses on before retaking her mouse. Watching her, Rachel sighed quietly, allowing her shoulders to slump. She'd just had to pry.

* * *

Taking the break afforded to her by the weather taking a momentary turn for the worse, Rachel was just about to bite into her veggie sandwich when the sound of Santana's mug getting set down onto the counter again made her sit up and shove it to the side, frantically brushing her hands off on her apron. "Okay, now I _have_ to ask if you're still human," she teased, smiling into tired but warm dark eyes, "Or if you've now transcended into a being of pure caffeine."

"Whichever I am, I make it look good." Smiling, Santana sighed and rocked back on her feet, gaze moving to the small selection of food items Rachel had prepared when the boredom had gotten too much for her. "Any of that edible?" she pointed.

"Well considering _I_ was the one who made them and not my coworker Tina, who has decided that _everything_ needs sriracha on it, I'd say so." As Santana hummed subvocally, surveying the selection, Rachel nervously twisted her apron in her hands so she didn't tap them obnoxiously on the counter. "Uh, unless you _like_ sriracha, we have some in the back."

Santana waved that away. "No worries. I don't think that'd go well with the coffee thrumming through my veins. Speaking of…" She tapped the glass in front of the roast beef and swiss cheese on focaccia sandwich Rachel had only managed to make with doubled up gloves, "Can you heat that up?"

Rachel smiled. "You bet." Pulling a pair of disposable gloves out of the box, and then pulling another pair after to insure she was suitably protected from touching murdered carcass, she transferred the wanted sandwich to the warming oven. "Are you going to want more coffee? Something else?" she asked over her shoulder. When she didn't get an answer, however, she turned back, eyebrows raised questioningly.

Santana was smirking at her, dimples on full display. "Either you're allergic to olive oil or you're a meat heathen."

" _Meat_ – meat heathen?"

"You might want to work on the automatic repelled scrunch of your nose the next time you pull a sandwich out for someone," grinned Santana. "The double gloves was a nice touch, too." Standing up in parody of peering over the counter, she finished triumphantly, "And if I'm not mistaken – which I'm not – that's a boring ass vegetarian excuse for a sandwich behind you."

Only not insulted because the woman seemed to be truly amused, giving her a slight wink to soften her words, Rachel hoped that the flush on her cheeks wasn't _too_ noticeable. "I just would prefer not to…" Watching the other woman's eyebrows steadily rise, she sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Okay, yes, I'm vegan."

"Say no more." Santana lowered her hand from where she had put it up to pause Rachel's admission. "I'm not judging… Much."

"It's a valid lifestyle choice."

"I said I wasn't judging!"

Unable to stop a smile from lifting the corners of her mouth, Rachel didn't try to hide it either as she moved to take the sandwich out as the oven beeped. "I believe your exact words ended with a, '…much,' so yes, you were completely judging."

"I don't know how you get from _much_ to _completely_ , but if that better fits your warped vegan mind… Have at it."

"Hey!" Turning back to a gigantic grin, Rachel felt a tightness in her chest she hadn't even realized was there ease at the continued validation that whatever she might have messed up with her inquiring earlier had been, for all intents and purposes, set aside by the woman before her. That made her happy. Santana was like her (paying) partner in anti-Christmas time passing. Transferring the hot sandwich into a waiting basket, she took the couple of extra seconds to arrange it to think up a fitting response.

But Santana interrupted her thoughts. "Okay. How about this? I will give you a chance to attempt to sway my entirely reasonable point of view if you," her smile gentled as she took up the sandwich Rachel slid to her; she half turned, glancing at her table and back to Rachel, "Join me?"

Rachel's jaw almost dropped. "I… I'd like to, but…" She looked at the camera in the corner of the shop, unconsciously straightening and impersonalizing her body language, "I'm really not supposed to."

"C'mon. You can'ts tell me your manager's gonna watch the video – even as, like, a masturbatory aide or something equally as whack as that."

A shocked noise left Rachel's mouth, and she coughed, quickly clearing her throat to pretend that it hadn't happened. "That's _disgusting_." Santana's dimples met her again. "And no, I don't have any idea why Mr. Ryerson would choose to do so. _Regardless_ that I'm pretty sure his 'interests' lie elsewhere."

"Oh?" Santana raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like juicy gossip."

Rachel stopped her by raising her hand. "Seriously not worth going into. The less I have to speak about Mr. Ryerson, the better." The man seriously gave her the creeps. Shaking her head, she inhaled, leaning against the counter. "Mmm… Before I ring up the total, are you going to want more coffee?"

"Nah. Do you have any, like, free water?"

"Of course!" Turning away and picking up one of their cheap 'free' cups, Rachel only paused a half second before snagging another one for herself. Filling both, she came back to a twenty, Santana pushing it at her with a kind smile and, "Here; stuff the remainder in your tip jar."

Rachel stared at her, the waters cool in her hands. "But…" That was almost fifteen dollars leftover. And Santana had already spent upwards of twenty dollars. As much as Rachel would appreciate the gesture, and on-the-job Rachel should have been salivating at the continual profit, early-twenties-student Rachel was starting to feel the strain on Santana's bank account. "I…" She was stumped at how to respond that wouldn't insult anyone.

Santana glared lightly at her, seemingly amused at the conflicted expression on Rachel's face. "Take it. It's compensation for spending this crap day with me."

"It hasn't been a hardship…" Rachel prevaricated, then sighed and gave in, delicately pulling the bill out of Santana's hand. "Thank you. But you know that's not your responsibility, right?" She half-smiled, lowering her voice, "Besides, I'm getting paid time and a half. Had to 'gently' remind Mr. Ryerson about labor laws, but I got it." She rang up the order and dumped the change into the tip jar that only previously held two nickels, doing her best not to look directly at it, instead focusing on Santana's now smug smirk.

"Well, now you have even more money." Santana shifted backwards, sweeping out her arms and raising her hands, rotating them jovially, "Merry Christmas~!"

That elicited a burst of laughter, Rachel too late to hide it behind her hand. "That's certainly the most… _unique_ Merry Christmas I've ever received, thank you." She skirted around the counter, waters in hand – before detouring back when she realized she had forgotten her sandwich.

"What? You've never been given money for a present before?" Leading the way to her table, graciously taking one of the waters so Rachel could have a better hold on her sandwich, Santana carelessly shoved her things to one side of the table, freeing up space for both of them to sit across from each other. "That became one of my favorite things to receive after age twelve. Can't go wrong with free choice of how to spend the cash."

Rachel shrugged. Setting down her sandwich and the water, she made quick work of her apron, folding it and, wavering for a second, slipped it onto the chair nearest her. It still felt a little weird after the tip, but she was determined to sweep that away quickly. "Do gift cards count?"

"Hmm." Tilting her head back and forth, Santana thought about it, then shrugged, pushing her hair behind her ear as she picked up her sandwich to take a bite. "Unless they're a general card for, like, a mall, then no. You know, one that works for whatever – whichever – stores you want." Chewing and swallowing, a light surprised expression crossed her face, and she grinned at Rachel. "Hey, this is pretty good for a meat heathen."

Rachel politely ignored that comment. She picked up her own sandwich, turning it in her hands to find the best spot to bite back into it. "Probably not, then. Although I _do_ still," she admitted a little embarrassedly, "Get a 'monthly allowance' from my dads to help with rent, if I need it."

Santana seemed to mentally file away the 'my dads' comment, nodding. "That's sorta like money presents, you know."

"Yes, but we don't call it such."

"Right." A beat. "Out of pride and all that, right?"

"Hey!" Laughing, Rachel shook her head. "Even if I didn't need it, I think they'd still send it. I'm their only child, and they can only visit every other month or so." Feeling a bit awkward, she bit her lip, "Sorry. Off topic." It was no time to burst into her original song, _Only Child_.

Santana shrugged, smiling, tucking her chin into the palm of her hand as she rested her elbow on the table. Her dark eyes were accepting. "'S the holidays. You're allowed. Do you normally spend them with them?"

"Yes. They're, uh, actually not here now because a work emergency came up for my dad, and daddy decided he should be there to support him. My dad gets a little," Rachel cleared her throat, smirking, " _Insane_ when stressed and left to his own devices."

Santana smirked back. "I bet." When Rachel nodded, letting silence lapse before tentatively broaching, "How about you?" she shrugged again, taking the time to take another bite of her sandwich to come up with a response. "Whenever we can plan it, yeah. Or when my mother thinks mi abuela's ready to come around… And turns out to be wrong." She sighed, picking up her water. "This year, I didn't even want to try. Especially once I knew I was going to be planning Britt's wedding."

"I'm sorry."

"'S life," Santana started, then snorted, straightening and shaking her head, eyes glowing with such ferocity that it made Rachel instinctively sit back and up in mimicry, "But that doesn't matter! This year, I gets to spend it with you." She winked confidently. "In this nice café that has an actual fireplace and Christmas decorations, and whose barista doesn't mind if I take up temporary residence all for the cost of a couple coffees and sandwich."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "A _couple_ coffees?"

Rolling up one of the napkins Rachel had included with her purchase, Santana threw it at her, laughing as Rachel ineffectually batted it away, having chosen her hand holding her sandwich. It bounced off her wrist, coming to a rest under the table, near Rachel's foot. Taking pity on her and bending down to get it, Santana came back up with an allowing, "Okay, fine, a whole college rowing team's worth of coffees." She flattened out the napkin, replacing it under the relatively clean one resting next to her food. "Happy now?"

Rachel smiled at her. "I am. Thank you. And thank you for picking that up, too."

"Less work for you, yeah?" Santana hid her smirk behind her sandwich, "I mean, on this _staggeringly_ busy day."

"Exactly."

Silence rose up between them, but it wasn't incredibly awkward or stuffy, and Rachel could feel herself continually relaxing, reaching the decision that sitting down with the other woman had been a good call. Speaking of… Glancing at Santana, who was calmly taking a sip of her water, she asked curiously, "So… Any new… Girlfriend…?" she hedged, relaxing when Santana nodded in the social cue she was on the right track, "Who doesn't really know what to make of this whole…" She searched for a word, "Wedding situation?"

Swallowing her sip of water, Santana shook her head, almost laughing. "No. Thank _god_. Could you imagine?" She picked up her sandwich again, "I mean, hopefully, if I _was_ dating someone, she'd understand and trust me, but it _would_ be a bit much for someone, probably, if the relationship was newer and not established." Nodding at Rachel's soft, "Small favors," she took a bite of her sandwich, chewing and swallowing before asking, "How about you? Any 'significant other' put out you're working all day? Not to mention probably worried that you're spending those hours with the _devastatingly_ sexy likes of myself?"

Enjoying the cocky smirk on Santana's face, Rachel only partially rolled her eyes, hoping her ears weren't as heated visually as they felt – along with the rest of her cheeks and face and nose. "Has anyone ever told you you're amazingly confident?" she asked, blushing again when Santana only shrugged and waved her hand over her body, asking archly, "You _have_ seen me, haven't you?" "Well, anyway," she cleared her throat, "Uhm, no. On the boyfriend front." Briefly meeting Santana's gaze, she added quickly, quietly, "Nor on the girlfriend front, for that matter."

"Because of choice, lack of prospects, or," Santana set down her sandwich, smiling knowingly at her, her voice sharing how she thought of her next statement, "Strictly non-chickly?"

Rachel's cheeks pinkened again. "M-mostly the first, somewhat of the second." Her voice lowered, "Though I think you had figured that out."

"It's what I do." Sitting back in her chair, Santana gave her a real, dimpled again smile, "And yeah." She tilted her head. "Why is that? You seem pretty… _Not_ psycho killer to me."

Rachel shook her head, crumpling up the last bit of her veggie sandwich before stuffing it into the container she'd originally kept it in. "I mean, yes. I'm not a psycho killer. I've just been told I'm…" she tilted her head back and forth, "Often intense."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing, though."

"Apparently my brand is?" When Santana didn't respond, continuing to study her, Rachel shrugged. "I, well, I go to NYADA, see," "Congratulations," Santana offered, and Rachel nodded, "And – thank you, it's tough but I enjoy it – and since I've been making my way to Broadway ever since the age of six months after experiencing the incomparable Barbra Streisand for the first time sitting on my father's lap and watching Funny Girl, that's where most of my time – when not working here, of course – is devoted to." She looked up, meeting Santana's gaze again. "Many don't seem to understand that drive. Or they think it's a choice." She shook her head. "It isn't. I'm meant to be on the stage, and that's where I'm going."

Santana looked at her askance. "…You can remember when you were six months old?"

"You can't?"

"What? No." Putting up her hand, Santana stayed Rachel's response, "Hold on. Gimme a sec. You just said a lot and I have to work through all of it." She pursed her lips, dark eyes lowered as her index finger tapped the table.

Rachel waited. The steadily growing squeezing feeling in her chest was preparing her for eventual dismissal, and she shifted, unable to stop herself from fidgeting. Even though she believed wholeheartedly in what she'd said, and wasn't ashamed, she also knew that had been probably a bit more personal or passionate – _intense_ , a small voice in her mind supplied – than anyone, especially a practical stranger, would know what to do with. She held in a sigh.

Just then, over the ever-present audio system, the CD changer shuffled from one of the softer Christmas albums to one Rachel had put even more of her already prodigious time and energy into recruiting the best musicians NYADA had to offer, allowing them to support and boost her vocals instead of blending in, more _foreground_ than _background_. As the music swelled and the singing began, dark eyebrows started to furrow, and Santana glanced first up at the ceiling then to Rachel. She mouthed 'no way'. "Is this… You?"

Before Rachel had a chance to answer, Santana was already continuing, "Oh my god, it _is_. You know, I'd been sitting here for the _longest_ time, knowing there was _something_ about the vocalist." Straightening in her chair, she stared at Rachel, eyes wide with a triumphant tilt to her lips. "This is you." She sat back, crossing her arms, lips curled up. "You're good."

Rachel smiled, nodding. She raised her hands. "It's me. And I am."

Sitting up again, Santana rested her arm on the table, leaning over it as if in confiding something. "Well, really. If _that_ ," she jabbed her thumb up towards the ceiling, "Is what comes from your ' _intensity_ ', as well as taking in account what I have seen of you these past few hours…"

A blush warmed on her cheeks again as Rachel couldn't help injecting, "It would be remiss of me not to remind you I've been operating mostly from an employee-customer perspective…"

Santana waved that away. "Blah blah blah. Semantics. Who cares?" Her smile broadened, the triumphant slant of her lips even more evident – her dimples in full view once again, Rachel had to glance away momentarily not to stare – she lightly slapped her hand down on the table, pointing at Rachel and leaning towards her even more, "My _obviously_ expert opinion says you've just been stuck dating the wrong kind of people. Let me guess." She tilted her head, sitting up once again, "Your first relationship upon reaching New York was a consequence of barely shaking off ties from your hometown: messy, unfulfilling, and full of uncomfortable compromises on your side."

Rachel's lips parted. "How… How did you know?" Granted those _were_ pretty broad assumptions, but the way the other woman had said them, it was like she had picked up something more specific than generalizations.

Santana exhaled, shrugging lightly as she pushed her hair behind her shoulder, smile gentler but still practically a smirk. "Let's just say I've had experience. Bet you have a better idea and ability to predict who will fit you now, though, right?"

"…Yes."

"See?" Pushing herself back from the table, Santana made quick work of sweeping up their combined trash, turning back only when she'd dropped the trash into the garbage can near the counter to give Rachel a giant wink and toothy grin, "Makes up for the awful sex."

Spluttering, Rachel stood up from the table as well, pausing a bit before reaching for her apron again. "Thanks," she started, attempting to change the subject as politely as she could, gesturing lightly at the table and the garbage can, "For cleaning up." She looped the top of the apron over her head, smiling at Santana. "That was nice of you." It was also nice of Santana for saying what she did, though Rachel knew she was going to have to think about it. Even if… It _was_ true there had been an awful lot of… _Lacking_ people in her dating past.

Santana returned her smile, hands curling on her books and computer, pulling them back into their previous position. "Hey, can't start suddenly making work for you, can I?"

"Well, you _could_ …"

"Right, and have you pour boiling hot coffee on me in retaliation? Mm. Rather not."

Rachel laughed, shaking her head. "You do realize," she raised her voice a little as she grabbed her sandwich container to safely stash behind the counter, once again starting to get herself situated, "That doing that would only make _more_ work for me? Mopping up spilled coffee is _not_ fun, in any sense of the word."

"Prior experience?"

Rachel made a face as she checked the espresso machine. " _Common_ experience."

"Huh." Slipping her reading glasses onto her nose, Santana slightly leaned back, balancing herself on the back two legs of her chair. "Suppose I'd also have sued you for hospital bills, not to mention to replace this _amazing_ weave of mine."

Satisfied that everything still looked in order, Rachel rested her forearms on the counter, unable to not return Santana's smile. "Hospital bills… Your… Weave?… Probably also being terminated from this job with _extreme_ prejudice… No, it seems very unlikely I would have even _thought_ of the action except for you bringing it up."

"Fiiine. Let's just agree I did it out of the goodness of my heart, then."

"If we must." Chest a little warm at the back-and-forth comradery, Rachel hesitated long enough for Santana to take the nonverbal cue to go back to her task, resettling back on all four legs and moving her gaze to her computer; she was still paying enough attention however to glance up at her when Rachel started slowly, "And, mm, thank you, for lunch. For inviting me to eat with you."

Santana smiled, nodding. "Don't mention it. It was a nice…" she gestured at her belongings, "Diversion and break from all this. I needed it just as much as you looked like you needed it." Her eyes crinkled behind her glasses.

Privately agreeing, Rachel was going to say as much when a harried looking woman, laden down with bags and several small children, bustled inside, automatically sighing in relief at the heat and emptiness. Exhaling, and placing a perfectly happy and polite expression on her face, Rachel went to greet them, Santana's smile and head tilt of understanding sending her off.

* * *

It was about an hour later, a little less than two hours before Rachel's shift ended, that Santana stood, groaning as she leaned back to crack her spine before stretching out her arms and swinging them around her body. "Okay, I _have_ to take an honest-to-god break now," she breathed, offering a crooked smile when she caught Rachel's eye.

Rachel set down her pen on her fifth crossword of the day. "Oh. Time to pack up and go?"

"Yeah. I have a late shift today, and for me that means I'mma have to get to work before eight. As it is…" Santana pulled her phone up, checking the time, "If I leave within the next twenty minutes, run a couple of the errands I still have to do, it'll still be after six when I get home with another long bus ride to get to the diner."

Trying to ignore the disappointment settling in her stomach, Rachel was slightly bolstered by the twin flash she thought she might have caught on Santana's face as she started gathering everything up, closing her laptop and pushing it into her shoulder bag. "Oh…" she repeated, then shook herself, asking shyly, "Would… Would you like a drink to take with you?"

"Wanting even _more_ money from me?" Santana shot her a grin, shaking her head in a teasing way when Rachel automatically tried to refute her, "Kidding, kidding!" When she turned to look at the darkening skies outside the window, she let out a small laugh. "Actually, you know what? I think I would. Keep me warm. You know what I like."

Yeah, Rachel really did. She didn't think she'd _ever_ forget Santana's order after making it multiple times that day. "Okay!" she chirped, happily busying herself with the order, knowing she needed that time to collect her wits and prepare herself to be without the other woman's presence. It wasn't like she _fully_ expected Santana to be there throughout her whole shift. She'd just… Hoped she would. She liked the company. Both in an abstract way – though Rachel was used to being alone, she liked human contact just as much – and in a Santana specific way too. They'd bonded over their dismal circumstances.

Not for the first time, Rachel wondered if she'd _ever_ be able to arrange someone else's wedding, not to mention the wedding for one of her exes! It was admirable how much Santana still adored Brittany to take that particular mantle on…

Santana's arrival at the counter distracted her just as she was putting the finishing touches on the to-go coffee, and she ended up accidentally drizzling caramel on her fingers, letting out a small sound of shock. "Ah, wait just a moment," she smiled beseechingly at Santana, "I'll clean my hand off, _then_ get you a sleeve."

Santana rested her hip against the counter, lips quirking up. "Go ahead. I still have a few."

"Good. I doubt you'd like a sticky cup," Rachel said over the running water of the sink behind the counter; as she shut off the tap and reached for the waiting hand towel, she frowned momentarily as a dull noise reached her from the right. However, when she turned, Santana was still where Rachel had left her, checking something on her phone, her shoulder bag slung low on her shoulder.

"You're right about that…" Santana mused, tapping a couple of times before putting her phone into the same pocket she'd been carrying her wallet in, pulling out a couple of bills. "Here," she smiled, handing them to Rachel in exchange for her drink, "Keep the change."

"Again? But – what –" Rachel sighed, dropping her eyes before she could roll them, almost smirking at Santana's pointed gaze and raised eyebrows. "You know, you're making me feel awfully inadequate, not having a Christmas present for you…" she pointed out.

Santana laughed, shaking her head. Pulling on a pair of fashionable gloves, she chanced a small sip of her coffee. "Right, like you keep extra Christmas presents on hand. Besides, isn't it backwards for employees to give money or other things to the customers if it's not what they're already selling?" Pausing a bit, she appeared to come to a decision, resettling on her feet to better face Rachel, resting her weight on her forearms. "Look, if you _really_ want to return the gesture or whatever, I'm sure you'll have time to later."

Rachel's heart thumped. "Later?"

"I don't know if you've noticed this, but I kinda _run_ on coffee. There's no way I'm not coming back to my favorite café."

 _Oh_. Right. Of course. Rachel hoped her embarrassed blush wasn't neon bright on her cheeks. She cleared her throat, trying to move past that lapse of mental acuity, fully aware of Santana's eyes dancing with amusement. "It's really hard _not_ to notice that, you're right."

"Yup."

Silence flowed between them, Rachel nervously drawing circles on the counter, Santana's eyes lowered as she appeared to be deciding something.

It was weird. Rachel felt weird. She shouldn't _really_ expect anything from Santana, should she? She wet her lips. "So…"

"So I should go," Santana started at the same moment, and their eyes flew to each other, both laughing, the awkwardness momentarily forgotten. It felt very nice for the air around them to be settled again.

Hoisting her coffee up, Santana smiled. "Thanks for the great coffee and company. You're definitely in charge of making my drink for me now."

Rachel beamed at her, biting her lower lip. "How do you know I'm going to be working when you come in, though?"

One of Santana's shoulders lifted, both sides of her lips lifting as well. "You normally are." Then, walking backwards a few paces, and putting a gloved hand up to her forehead in a kind of salute, Santana nodded one last time before lifting the faux-fur hood of her outer jacket over her head. "Stay warm, Rachel. Merry Christmas."

Lifting on her toes to watch Santana shoulder her way out of the café, Rachel called back, giving only half of a proper wave before her hand curled back into her chest, "You too! Merry Christmas, Santana…"

Once the jangle of the bells stopped, echoing in the empty gulf left behind by the other woman's exit, Rachel sighed, giving herself a moment to drop her head and shake it before she went for the broom, wanting to sweep up the let in snow before it melted too much and she had to take out the mop instead. She hadn't lied to Santana. She hated mopping.

* * *

Without Santana's presence, it didn't take Rachel long to start slowly closing up the parts of the café that weren't needed as much. Leaving the fire crackling – as Rachel both appreciated the sense of the holiday it invoked via its mere presence and the smell of roasting chestnuts the pre-fab logs were specially formulated to smell like, as well as its warmth – she put the farthest most chairs from the entrance on top of their accompanying tables, figuring that if there _really_ was a sudden rush of people wanting to stay in she could just pull them down again, and began straightening the magazines and books set out closest to the plush chairs and sofa. Doing a cursory sweep of the floors, knowing she'd end up doing another – _real_ – sweep right before she locked up, it didn't take Rachel long to realize that she'd once again commenced with humming along to her holiday music. Pausing just a moment to realize she'd missed the opportunity to regal Santana with an impromptu performance, she sighed and began again. She would have chances to later. Santana said so.

It wasn't until ten minutes before she was set to turn out all the lights and start making her way home that Rachel realized she hadn't tallied up her tips yet. Pulling the plastic container closer to her and tipping it out, not surprised to see that there really wasn't too much in it aside from Santana's generous offerings, the sight of a folded over piece of notebook paper made her stop. Furrowing her brow as she separated it from the actual bills and coins, red slashed across her face as her eyes widened and her hand came up to smother an audible gasp when she opened it to see what it was.

 **Rachel,** the note started, Rachel's gaze darting down to make sure, her heart both relaxing and squeezing when, indeed, the short letter was signed _Santana_ , **So you're cute and hot and definitely interesting enough that I wouldn't mind getting to know you. Unless I'm reading things wrong (and let's be honest, it's, like, statistically IMPOSSIBLE for me to ever be wrong), you're interested in me too. Even if you're not (and again I'm going to point out that I'm rarely EVER wrong), I'd like to thank you for making this day better than bearable. It was SO MUCH better than I was expecting, and that's definitely because of you. So here's my number. Call me. Santana**

Underneath, scrawled in the same hurried, quick strokes as the rest of the note, was what was ostensibly Santana's cell phone number followed by an **XOXO**. Even as part of Rachel jumped up and down, tingles spreading through her body as she read and reread over the words, she realized that this, getting placed into the tip jar, was what she'd halfway sensed when washing her hands. _Wow_ had Santana done a good job of looking completely innocent when Rachel had turned around! She also had to wonder how she hadn't seen it when she'd dropped in the change from Santana's last drink.

Moving backwards, resting against the stool for when the shop got slow, Rachel smiled under her hand, having to let out a girlish giggle as she reached for her phone. Copying Santana's number into it, she placed the letter safely onto the counter so it wouldn't get crumpled, going ahead and laying her phone down onto it afterwards.

As she finished everything up with a tired but large smile on her face, continually glancing at the letter and her phone, it wasn't until Rachel pulled her CDs out of the player that something occurred to her – something that made her blink and exhale out a small 'oh,': should she expect an invite to Santana's ex-wife's bachelorette party and wedding? It _was_ New Year's Eve and Day, after all. The perfect days for tentative new romances, she'd always figured…

Still. Rachel hummed. Should she even _want_ an invite?

Humming once again, Rachel decided she'd have to think about _that_ later – _after_ she'd put Santana's number to good use.


End file.
